Why Don't You Love Me?
by Lamia Astaroth
Summary: [Complete] A story of obsession, love, loss, and stalking. No one ever said that life was easy. Read & Review!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-This is my first fan fiction story that I've ever posted. The subject matter is stalking. I got the main idea from one of my friends, who has a problem with somewhat "stalking" the guys she develops crushes on. Anyways, you probably don't care.  Please give feedback.

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

_Click, click. _I take some pictures from my balcony. That's pretty much all I do; take pictures. Black and white, color, digital…it doesn't matter to me. As long as they turn out. As long as _he_ turns out.

I smile, placing the viewfinder upon my eye, squeezing the opposite eye shut. From my third-story balcony, I can easily see _him_ leaving his apartment building. For the past two months, I have been watched him, snapped pictures of him, learned everything about him.

_Click, click._ I snap a quick picture of _him_ leaving his building and walking down the sidewalk. My camera begins to whirr. With one last longing glance, I turn away from _him_ and enter my apartment.

_Him._ Michael Novotny.  The love of my life.  The one I will end up with.  Someday.

I have spent months learning all I can about him; his apartment number, his friends' names, even what kind of food he prefers.

With the zoom lens on my camera, I can see practically everything; including his boyfriend, Ben.

Ben Bruckner.  Just the _name_ fills me with anger, as well as jealousy.  Ben doesn't _deserve_ a guy like Michael.  Michael deserves the best.  Which is why he should be with me; I could give him everything.  Anything he wanted, I would find it.  I would find it just to make him happy.

I glance at the clock on my kitchen wall, just to the right of the refrigerator.  It's 12:12 PM.  Michael should be arriving back at his apartment in about an hour, maybe less.  I'll be sure to be ready to get another picture.  Or two.

I walk across my apartment to my bedroom.  Plastered all over one of the walls are my photos of Michael.  There are even a few pictures above my bed, so that he is the last thing I see before falling asleep each night.

I climb onto my bed and sit down on my knees.  I look around at _his _face.  He's so perfect…and I know that somehow, someday, he will be with me. 

He will be with me and I would hold him and tell him how much I love him.  And he would say that he loves me as well.  That he's never wanted any one else as much as he wants me.  And then we would make love.  Not "have sex," not "fuck"…make love.  And I'd probably begin to cry, if we did, because I knew that it would happen someday.  I knew.

My hand reaches up and strokes his face.  Well, the _picture_ of his face, anyway.  I know that people would think that what I'm doing is wrong, but who gives a shit what _they_ think?

They just don't understand.  They don't understand that my heart literally aches whenever I look across to his apartment and see him and Ben kissing or having sex.

They don't understand how many sleepless nights I've had just thinking about him and how my life would be if I were with him.

They don't understand how many times I've just wanted to curl up and die, just because he's not with me, because he doesn't know about me, or care about me, or love me.

But he will.  He'll love me.  He _has_ to love me.  He _will_ love me.

I remember the first day I saw him.  I was leaving the gym after working out and I accidentally walked right into him.  The moment our bodies touched, I knew.  I had mumbled "sorry" and walked quickly away.  I've been obsessed with him ever since.

I chuckle.  _Obsessed._  It sounds so evil, so _bad_.  And maybe, just maybe, it is.  But it doesn't bother me.  Someone once said, "Love comes in many different forms."  This just happens to be the form _my_ love came in.

I glance quickly at my watch.  It reads 12:53; Michael should be arriving home soon.  I practically leap off of my bed and run to the balcony, grabbing my camera on the way.

I place my eye against the viewfinder, searching the crowd for _him_.  I search for about five minutes before I see him walking up to the apartment building.

He turns towards me slightly, his beautiful brown eyes gazing around behind him.  _Click, click, whirr.  _He turns back, opens the door, and disappears into the building.

I smile…and wait.  It never takes too long for him to him to get back up to his own apartment.  I shift my gaze up to his apartment's window, and wait…

I can see the door open and _he_ enters the room.  He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack.  I gaze through the lens, watching the way he moves as he begins to make himself lunch: a ham and cheese sandwich, his favorite.  He sits down at the table and begins to eat.

An idea flashes through my mind.  I set down the camera and return back inside my apartment.  Lying on the kitchen counter is a small, black and silver tape recorder.  I pick it up and glance quickly inside to be sure that there is a tape inside; there is, but there is only a few seconds left on it.

On my way back to the balcony, I grab the cordless phone from the kitchen counter.

I step back out onto the balcony, picking up my camera and peering through the viewfinder to be sure he is still sitting at his kitchen table.

I press the ON button on the cordless phone, my eyes still latched upon Michael.  I see him flinch slightly and reach into his pants' pocket.  I see him mouth, _"Hello?  Oh, hi Ben…"_

_That_ word I pick up the easiest of all: Ben.  I grin; now is the perfect time to call…interrupt his conversation with his boyfriend.

I quickly dial his number (Speed dial _1_) and press the RECORD button on the tape recorder.  I hold the microphone to the earpiece.  And listen.

I watch as Michael looks over at his ringing telephone and says a quick "goodbye," and then closes his cell phone.

_Sorry, Ben,_ I think, sarcastically, the smile on my face widening.

Michael dashes over to his phone and picks it up.  "Hello?"  His voice sends a chill up my spine.  I say nothing.  "Hello?" he says again, louder this time.  "Okay, bye," he adds, obviously irritated, and hangs up the phone.

I hit the STOP button on the tape recorder and the END button on the cordless phone.  I hit EJECT and remove the tape, stepping back inside my apartment.

I walk back to my bedroom and crouch down next to the bed.  I pull out a black plastic box from beneath my bed.  On the side of the box, on a piece of masking tape, is the word "Michael" in big, box letters.

I open the box and peer down at about ten tapes, all filled with Michael either on the phone (I have one where I told him that I was a "radio deejay" and that all he had to do was answer some "personal questions" and he might win a prize) or talking to someone in Babylon, as well as many, many other different ones.  And now there's one more to add to the collection.  I place the tape inside the box and close it, sliding it back under my bed.

I peer around my bedroom; everywhere there is some mention of Michael.  On the wall, next to the door, there is a small, plastic sign that reads, "Michael's Parking Only.  All Others Will Be Towed."

My bookcase is filled with copies of "Rage".  Most of them I got as a birthday gift last month from my mom, but three I bought on my own, just two weeks ago (I even have a recording of the _very_ brief conversation he and I had while I was at his comic book store buying "Rage").

And the wall that my bed is against; it's my favorite.  It is covered with my personal pictures of Michael.  Some are small; others are practically poster-sized.  In some, he's smiling, in others, he's frowning.  Sleeping, eating, drinking, laughing crying, fucking…I have them all.

I leave my room and go back to the balcony.  Michael is sitting on his couch, sketching.  _Click, click, whirr._

I set down my camera and pull out a sheet of paper from my pants' pocket and a pen from my jacket.  I look over the paper, reading it over and over in my head.

It is a letter to _him_, telling him how I feel about him.  So far, all I've written is:

_Dear Michael Novotny_,

_I know that you don't know me, but I know you.  Probably better than you think.  I am just writing you this letter to tell you something very important.  Well, at least to _me_ it's important.  What I mean to say is…I love you.  Ever since I first saw you.  You're all I can think about, all I _want _to think about.  Lately, I've even had trouble sleeping because all I can see, all I can _feel_, is you._

That's where the letter stops.  I know that it sounds crazy and passionate, but it's truly how I feel. 

He'll probably call the cops or try and get a restraining order put against me, but I don't care.  Because he needs to know how I feel.  He needs to know that I love him…so that he can love me back.

I click the pen open and continue the letter:

_I will understand if you want to call the police, but I simply _had_ to tell you.  If you want to tear this letter apart and forget about me, I'll understand.  But if you want to talk to me, just look out of your window; you'll know which apartment is mine.  Sincerely,_

I write my name…and then scribble it out.  It's probably best if I don't write my name.  I refold the letter and stick it back in my pants' pocket.  I click the pen closed and place it back inside my jacket.  I'll send the letter to him later…

I pick up my camera again and look into Michael's apartment; my stomach churns when I see that Ben is in there with him.  They are talking, sitting together on their couch.  Ben leans in for a kiss and I snap my eyes shut and lower the camera.

Jealousy is surging through my heart.  Ben usually comes home to have sex with Michael before he goes back to work.  They've been doing it a lot more now that that Hunter kid is actually going to school.

I open my eyes and look back at their apartment.  I was right; they're already in their bedroom, going at it.

It should be _me_ in there with him, loving him, holding him.

_Why can't he love me?_  It is that question that causes me to hate him while I love him.  He _should _love me.  Look at all that I do for him: I've practically built a shrine to him in my bedroom.  The least he could do is love me.  Why doesn't he love me?

My watch beeps: 1:30.  Time for my meds.  I stroll casually into the bathroom and open the cabinet, removing the medication labeled "Zoloft."  I dry-swallow two pills, feeling them slide down my throat.

My meds.  The other reason I hate Michael while I love him.  I would never even be on the medication if it wasn't for him.

Depression.  I was diagnosed with it nearly three months ago.  Ironic, about the same time I feel in love with _him_. 

After learning about his boyfriend, I became lonely, quiet, an outcast from the world.  All I wanted to do was watch _him_ from my balcony, all day, and then go to work at night.  This is why I don't have any friends; I'm an outsider.

I sigh deeply, returning back to the balcony.  Ben and Michael have already finished and are now cuddling on the couch.  He looks so happy, just sitting there.  _Click, click, whirr_.

But he'd be happier with me.  I'd make him happy.  He'd be able to forget all about Ben, his friends, his mother (Debbie), and just be with _me_.

_You're obsessed_, that voice inside tells me.  I know I'm obsessed; I have a hundred page notebook completely filled up with just his name.  I know his birthday, his family members' names…pretty much anything and everything I could find out.  And I've already described my room.

But I'm okay with being obsessed.  I love him, and I won't let other people's opinions scare me away from the person I adore.  He gives me a reason to wake up each morning (when I actually do fall asleep).  He gives me a reason to live…and a reason to die.

But someday he'll be mine.  Someday…

_To Be Continued…_

Author's Note (Continued…)-I know, this chapter was probably pretty boring, but I promise, it's all very important to the story.  And I know it's pretty obsessive, but that's the whole point.  Right, now please give feedback; I need to know if the story is okay and if I should continue…


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer- I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Thanks to "Alison," my only reviewer. Oh, and whenever you see a section written in "first person," it's the stalker. And please give feedback!

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

'Mad' is a term we use to 

describe a man who is obsessed 

with one idea and nothing else. 

-Ugo Betti

Suffering is the ancient law of love; 

there is not quest without pain; 

there is no lover who is not also a martyr.

-Heinrich Suso

The ghost of you that gets me every time  
Just won't let go until it brings me down  
I try to hide it but there's only one  
My obsession is you  
-Icehouse "My Obsession"

Obsess: to haunt or excessively 

preoccupy the mind of; 

to engage in obsessive thinking;

become obsessed with an idea

-Webster Dictionary "Obsess"

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

"How much longer until you've got to get back to class?" Michael Novotny asked his boyfriend, Ben Bruckner. They were sitting together on their couch, Michael's head resting on Ben's chest.

"Actually," Ben replied, glancing at his watch, "I'd better get going now." He stood up and stretched his back. He walked into their bedroom and began getting re-dressed.

Michael stood up and followed Ben towards their bedroom. "Aw, do you _have_ to?" he asked, sulkily, leaning against the doorway to their room.

"What's the matter?" Ben asked, as he zipped up his pants.

Michael shrugged, but Ben could tell that Michael knew exactly what was wrong. "I don't know. It's just that…have you ever felt that someone was watching you? That everywhere you go, someone can…_see _you?"

"See you?" Ben repeated, slightly confused. "Could you elaborate on that?"

"You know, _see you_. I mean, when some random person on the street looks at you, it's usually just a passing-by glance, right?" Ben nodded. "Well, I mean that someone can really _see_ you. _Know_ you. Have you had that kind of a feeling?"

Ben raised an eyebrow at Michael. "No, I don't believe that I have been having that type of feeling lately. Why, have _you?_"

"Well…yeah. And it's not only when I'm alone, either. It happens when you're here, too. Or when Hunter's here, or, well, anyone else…" Michael's voice trailed off.

Ben nodded. "Okay, I think I understand you. How long have you been having these feelings?"

"Umm, about a month, a month and a half, maybe."

"And you're only telling me about them _now_?"

Michael did not reply immediately; he was staring out of the window, a look of confusion in his eyes. That feeling was coming back. Someone was watching…

"Michael?" Michael flinched slightly at the sound of his name. Ben had put his hand on Michael's shoulder and had squeezed it gently.

"Huh? Oh, sorry," Michael apologized, giving Ben a sad half smile.

"Listen, I have to go, but if you get any of these 'feelings' again, please either call me, or go to someone else's house. Like your mother's."

Michael almost told Ben that he had gotten those _feelings_ at his mother's house as well (everywhere he went, practically, he had gotten those _feelings_), but he thought better of it. "Okay," he agreed, and walked into the bedroom to get dressed, that _feeling_ still lingering within him.

"Okay," Ben said, once the two of them were fully dressed. "Now, you promise me that you'll call me if you-"

"Yes, Mother," Michael said, sarcastically, rolling his eyes, but smiling.

"Good." Ben leaned down and gave Michael a kiss goodbye. "I'll see you later."

"Okay, bye," Michael said, getting ready to close the door once Ben had stepped out of the apartment.

"Oh," Ben said, suddenly, turning back around, "didn't you say that there was a call earlier?" Michael nodded and replied that there had been. "Was it Rachel from the school?" Ben asked. "Because I've been expecting a call from her."

Michael shook his head. "No…actually, there was no one on the phone when I answered it."

"Again?" Ben shook his head, annoyed. "Is it just me, or have we been getting a lot of those lately?"

"Yeah, we have." Michael did not bother mentioning to Ben that all of the "calls" had only occurred when he was alone, or when Ben was obviously too busy to answer the phone.

"Okay, I really have to go." Ben gave Michael one last kiss goodbye before turning and walking out of the apartment.

Michael closed the door as soon as Ben had left, locking the door behind him. _Is it wrong not to feel safe even when you're with someone you love?_ he asked himself, running a hand through his hair.

* * *

_I watch as Michael says goodbye to Ben. It seems to be taking Ben a long time to leave. Why can't he just leave, so that I can have my so-called "Quality Time" with Michael? They share a goodbye kiss and Ben (finally) leaves the apartment._

_Ben and Michael together: my suffering, my depression. The reason I have medication, the reason I've tried plotted my own death on countless nights. But soon Michael won't need Ben. He'll have me, and that's all he'll need..._

_Michael glances out of the window. Click, click, whirr I can see that he looks deeply immersed in thought, even a little bit...afraid? Why would be be afraid? I'm here watching over him. I would never let someone hurt him. Never._

I love you,_ I think as he turns away from the window. I slide my hand into my pocket and finger the letter. I should probably send it now. Better now than later; Ben might accidentally get a hold of it._

_I walk swiftly towards the door and open it. I walk out of the apartment and head towards the stairs. As I decend the stairs, I already feel an aching to get back to my balcony, just in case Michael is doing something worth saving forever._

_I push away these feelings and continue down the stairs and out of my apartment complex. I pause before crossing the street, just to be sure that there are no cars to run me down before I profess my love to Michael. Afterwards, however...that all depends..._

_I walk up to his building and look up, unsure if I'm doing the right thing by telling him. His life would probably be easier if he didn't know, but mine would be Hell._

_I take a deep breath and push the door open and step inside the building. I see the mailboxes directly across from me on the opposite side of the room. _

_As I walk towards the mailboxes, I hear the elevator ding, and Ben comes out. Ben. I try to divert my eyes from him, but I can feel my eyes wanting to watch him. He passes by me, and gives me a quick "Hi." I do not reply, and my empty gaze watches him as he exits the building._

_Once he is out of sight, I walk up to the mailboxes and find _his_ mailbox (I know which apartment number is his because a few weeks ago, I asked the man working behind the counter), but I have a better idea; instead of simply dropping the letter into the mailbox, I will bring it up to his room and slip it in the crack of the door, just to be sure that _he's_ the one who gets it._

_As I walk up the stairs, I realize that this is the closest I've ever been to his apartment. A chill travels up my spine as I realize that he too took this exact stairs once (Obsessed...)._

_Finally, I reach his floor. Luckily, the stairs are very close to his apartment. I walk across to the door...and stare. I cannot move; _he's_ in there. Right there. I shake my head, ridding myself of my momentary daydream._

_I pull the letter, still folded, out of my pocket. I smooth out the creases and stick it into the crack of the door. My heart pounding in my ears, I summon up enough courage to lift my hand, and knock on the door._

* * *

Michael's ears perked up at the sound of a knock on his door. He walked towards the door, unlocked it, and then opened it. A lone piece of paper fluttered down and landed gently on the floor.

Michael looked around in confusion. Upon seeing no one around, that _feeling_ began to come back. He swallowed the lump in his throat and stepped back inside his apartment, pulling the door closed behind him.

* * *

_I hear the door open...and close. I open the door I am hiding behind a crack; the letter is gone. _He's_ probably reading it at this very moment. _

_My stomach flutters; I realize that I have no idea of what could possibly happen. Is he going to call the police and report a stalker? Is he going to come to my apartment to talk to me? Will he want me as much as I want him? _

_I want to see his reaction, so I sprint down the stairs, across the street, and into my apartment building. I just hope that it is not too late..._

* * *

Michael looked at the folded piece of paper for a moment. His name, written in a rushed handwriting, in pen, smiled up at him, urging him to open the paper. To see what was inside...

He sighed deeply, and placed the piece of paper on the kitchen table and went to sit back down on the couch. If he was going to open that letter, he was going to do it with someone around.

He picked up the remote and switched on the TV. He glanced back at the crumpled piece of paper...and immediately turned his attention back to the television. _Just wait_, he told himself. _Ben'll be home later. Just wait 'til then._

But the letter silently called out to him, begging for him, urging him on. _Although,_ he thought, with another glance towards the paper sitting on the table, _what if there's a _really_ important message in there? From Brian, or someone..._

Michael knew that if Brian, or any of his friends, for that matter, had anything to say to him, no matter _how_ important it was, they would talk to him in person. At least, that's how it had been in the past...but he desperately needed an excuse to open the letter.

He stood up off of the couch and took a few steps towards the table. The word "_Michael_" gleamed up at him, menicingly. He reached out and placed his hand on the paper. _Should I? _he asked himself, still unsure.

His adrenaline pumping, he siezed the letter and, as gently as possible, unfolded it. A message was scribbled inside, in a handwriting he did not recognize.

_"Dear Michael Novotny..." _he read aloud.

* * *

_I run out to my balcony, picking up my camera and placing the viewfinder against my eye. I can see that Michael is sitting on his couch...without the letter. Did he not get it? _

_I see him stand up and walk towards his kitchen table, where my letter is lying. He places his hand on it, and picks it up. As he opens it, I can already feel the beads of sweat outlining my hairline._

_I see his lips move: "Dear Michael Novotny..."_

* * *

_"...I know that you don't know me, but I know you. Probably better than you think." _Michael paused. I know that you don't know me, but I know you. That _feeling_ was coming back. That feeling of being watched. That feeling of being _known_.

He cleared his throat and continued. _"I am just writing you this letter to tell you something very important. Well, at least to me it's important. What I mean to say is…I love you."_ At that last line, Michael froze. I love you. _Love? How can someone I don't know _love_ me?_

Even with his heart pounding loudly in his ears, Michael continued: _"Ever since I first saw you. You're all I can think about, all I want to think about. Lately, I've even had trouble sleeping because all I can see, all I can feel, is you._

_"I will understand if you want to call the police, but I simply had to tell you. If you want to tear this letter apart and forget about me, I'll understand. But if you want to talk to me, just look out of your window; you'll know which apartment is mine. Sincerely..." _The name had been scribbled out.

_Just look out of your window; you'll know which apartment is mine_. Michael's eyes drifted back to his window, but he refused to look outside. He turned away from the window. _Oh, my God_, he thought.

His hand floated to his pants' pocket and he fingered his cell phone. _I should call Ben_, he thought, then shook away that thought. Ben was in class, and he didn't want to risk Ben's job just because of a letter. _Yeah, a letter from a fucking _stalker_. At least, that's how it sounds to me._

Michael refolded the letter and stuck it into the hip pocket of his pants. _Just wait for Ben to get home. _Then_ we'll decide what to do._

Michael jumped nearly a foot in the air as the front door swung open. "Hey," Hunter said, as he walked into the apartment, tossing his bookbag to the floor and walking over to the couch.

Michael grasped at his chest. "_Jesus_, Hunter! You scared the _shit_ out of me! Why don't you come in slower?!"

"Whoa," Hunter said, slumping down on the couch, "what's your problem? I always come home that way; it's never bothered you before."

"Yeah, well..." Michael shook his head. "How was school?" he asked, changing the subject.

"It fucking sucks," Hunter replied, rolling his eyes. "They want us to read Julius Caesar by Shakespeare. God, it's boring. And how the hell are you supposed to understand what he's saying?"

Michael shrugged. "That's why you've got Ben. He'll probably know. I never liked Shakespeare either. Too melodramatic."

Hunter nodded. "When's he coming home, anyways?"

_Not soon enough,_ Michael thought. "Pretty soon," he replied, glancing at his watch. "An hour. An hour and a half, tops." His heart had recovered from the earlier scare, but he was amazed at how collected he sounded. Especially after receiving that letter. He almost thought about mentioning the letter to Hunter, but decided against it; it should be Ben he tells first.

* * *

_As I watch him read my letter, I can see the horror that envelopes his expression, and my heart catapults down to my stomach. He won't come to see me; he'll tell his "boyfriend" about the letter and then they'll call the cops. And he'll never love me. Never love me the way I've been waiting for. Never._

_I see him stick the letter back into his pocket. Why is he keeping it? Maybe, just maybe, he'll come to see me, and then our lives together can begin...there's always hope, isn't there? Or maybe I'm overanalyzing...but he didn't throw it away; that has to mean _something_. Doesn't it?_

_I watch as Hunter erupts throgh the front door, causing Michael to jump. Damn kid, why can't he be more careful?_

_Michael does not take out the letter. Does he want to wait until Ben comes home, or is he going to keep it all a secret? I have a feeling that my questions will never be answered, unless _he_ comes over. If he ever does..._

_But there's always hope. And I will wait here forever. And ever. And ever. Until _he_ comes. And when he does, he'll know that we were meant to be together. Forever. And ever. And ever._

_To Be Continued..._

Author's Note (Continued...)-Okay, if you read my story, please give feedback. Thanks to all who do! Until next chapter!


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer- I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Thanks to my reviewers: "VJ" and "Luscious Kinney." Please give feedback!

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

These be three silent things:  
The falling snow...  
The hour before the dawn...  
The mouth of one just dead.  
-Adelaide Crapsey  
  
Only enemies speak the truth;   
friends and lovers lie endlessly,   
caught in the web of duty.   
-Stephen King: "The Last Gunslinger"  
  
There is always some madness in love.   
But there is also always some reason in madness.   
-Friedrich Nietzsche: "On Reading and Writing"  
  
Rest in me and I'll comfort you  
I have lived and I died for you  
Abide in me and I vow to you  
I will never forsake you  
-Evanescence "Lies"

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

_Should I call and tell Ben now? Well, he _will_ be home soon. I should just wait...but what if that whoever-it-is tries to find me? Then what? Then I'll spend the rest of my life telling myself, _You should have called Ben, but you didn't._ Do I really want _that?_ Or..._

Michael snapped out of his thoughts at the sight of a hand waving in front of his face. "Hey, what's wrong?" Hunter asked, continuing to move his hand up and down in front of Michael's eyes.

Michael blinked and shook his head. Hunter stepped away from him and sat back down on the couch. "Oh, nothing," Michael replied. "So...how was school today?"

Hunter raised an eyebrow at Michael's question. "Dude, you already asked me that. What the fuck's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Michael said again, not bothering to pester Hunter about his cursing. _Why bother?_ he thought. _That's one of the last problems on my list._

Hunter nodded, but gave Michael a disbelieving look. "Okay, well, I'm going to go to my room."

"And do what?" Michael asked, as Hunter stood up.

"And..." Hunter caught the look in Michael's eye and groaned, "do my homework." He walked, slightly hunched over in a "Why are you making me do this?" way, over to his bookbag and picked it up. "Later," he tossed over his shoulder before entering his room and closing the door.

Michael did not reply. He simply sat on the chair. He could feel the paper in his pocket pressing against his skin, calling to him again. Begging to be read. He sighed and stuck his hand back into his pocket and pulled out the letter. _"Just look out of your window; you'll know which apartment is mine," _Michael read again, silently this time. He looked out of his window at the neighboring buildings.

_Which one could it be?_ he asked himself, not really wanting to know the answer. And yet, he wanted to know at the same time. _Which one?_ His eyes danced from each apartment to the next. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that would set aside one apartment from another. Nothing that would show him where his "stalker" was living.

A momentary thought passed through his mind: what if there _was_ no stalker? What if this was just some prank from one of his friends? But would they _really_ do something so...terrifying? Well, _would_ they?

Michael shook his head. His friends joked with each other sometimes, but it had never gotten this intense. No matter how pissed off someone was, they would never do something like this.

His eyes continued to search the fellow buildings, still seeing nothing. Not one thing that would set a room aside and tell him that that was where the author of the letter lived.

* * *

_I can see him removing my letter again. His eyes drift up and he begins to look around at the other rooms around me. He wants to know who sent him the letter. He wants to know where I live. That must be it; he hasn't thrown away the letter and he's _looking_ for me._

_As he continues to search the other apartments around me, I am suddenly hit with an awkward feeling; I don't want him to find me. I want things to stay as they are: with him not knowing about me, and my being able to watch and watch and want._

_I stand up and quickly go inside, carrying my camera along with me. He _can't _know who I am. Not yet; I'm not ready yet! What the hell was I thinking, sending the letter? I should have waited! God, why didn't I just fucking _wait?!__

_But it's too late now…and maybe he _wants_ to find me. _Wants_ to fall in love with me. _Wants_ for us to be together forever. Maybe that's what he really wants, even if he doesn't know it yet…maybe…_

_My hand drifts to the cordless phone; maybe if I call him, I can tell him that I want to meet him somewhere. Or that he can come over, if he wants, or that I'll wait for him at Babylon tonight. Yes, that's what I'll tell him: to come to Babylon tonight. That I'll be there. Waiting._

_I pick up the cordless phone and dial Speed Dial 1. I press the earpiece to my ear and listen._

_Ring…_

_My adrenaline is pumping wildly. I love him I love him I love him and now we're going to meet and God, I love him love him…_

_  
Ring…_

* * *

_Ring…_

Michael stared at his ringing phone. Should he answer it? At first, he told himself that he shouldn't, but what if it was his mother, or Ben, or someone important?

_Ring…_

He took a deep breath and placed his hand on top of the phone, squeezing his eyes shut as he picked it up. He placed the earpiece against his ear and listened. "Hello?" he said, amazed at how calm he sounded.

_"Hello, Michael."_

Michael froze. He had never heard that voice before. Ever. Was it…whoever wrote the letter to him? Was it? His hands began to shake. "Hello," he said again, wanting to hang up the phone, but found that he could not move.

_"How are you?"_

The voice sounded nervous. Almost as nervous as Michael felt. Frozen with fear and anxiety, Michael could do nothing but reply. "I…I'm…"

_"I know, you're probably freaked out, but don't be."_

Michael's eyebrows furrowed. Was the voice serious? Don't be freaked out? How could he _not_ be? He was on the phone with a _stalker_ for God's sake! Michael somehow found his voice again: "Why? Why shouldn't I be 'freaked out'? Are…are you the one who…who…"

_"Sent the letter? Yes, I am." _A pause. _"But I want you to know that I meant everything I said, Michael."_

Michael closed his eyes. _Oh no, don't say it, don't say what you wrote, oh shit, just don't say it…_

_"I did mean it. I love you."_

Michael's stomach shot up to his throat; he felt sick. _Very _sick. "H…how…how…" He couldn't get the question out: _How can you love me if you've never met me?_ But his voice kept hitching on that one word. "…how…"

The voice sighed. _"There are some things that a person just knows, Michael. I just know. I love you. I truly love you."_

Michael pressed the back of his fist against his mouth. He _was_ going to be sick, all over his clean kitchen floor. More beads of sweat formed over his hairline, a lone droplet sliding down his face.

_"And don't think that I expect you to feel the same way, because I don't. But I need to talk to you."_

Michael removed his fist and whispered, "Okay…"

Another pause; Michael could see the voice shaking its head. _"I don't mean on the phone, Michael. I mean in person. I_ need _to. And then I'll be able to move on."_

Michael's eyes widened slightly and his voice returned. "W…what? In person? How fucking dense do you think I am?!"

The voice chuckled softly. _"I don't mean in a private place, Michael. At Babylon, around eight thirty tonight. I'll be waiting for you."_

Michael shook his head, but did not reply. He couldn't do this, he just _couldn't_ do this. He didn't do things this risky. Well, aside from running off with Hunter, but that was beside the point…meeting a _stalker_? Even at a crowded place like Babylon, it's still too dangerous…

"No," Michael replied, finally. "No, I won't come."

A pause. _"Michael, this is your chance to help me move on. If I can't move on, I'll just keep watching forever and ever and ever…and you'll never be alone again. When you're with Ben, your mother, your friends…I'll be watching. And calling the police won't save you, Mikey. I'll still be watching you…"_

The voice trailed off, leaving Michael sitting on the chair, his mouth hanging agape. _"And," the voice continued, "close your mouth, Michael; it's not very becoming."_

At that statement, Michael snapped his mouth shut and stood up off of the chair. The voice laughed. _"Aww, you're funny, Michael. That's one of the things I love most about you."_

"Sick bastard," Michael whispered, the nausea returning.

_"You won't think that tonight, Michael. You'll love me. I can promise you that…"_

"No, I won't," Michael continued, his voice low. "I love Ben…"

The voice scoffed. _"Ben," _it repeated, in a disgusted tone of voice. _"He doesn't deserve you, Michael. He doesn't love you the way you deserve."_

"That's not true," Michael argued. It never even occurred to him to hang up the phone.

_"You know it is. He'll never love you the way I do. You're my life, Michael. And I'm sure that, soon, I'll be yours."_

Michael did not reply; the back of his hand was pressed against his mouth again. This time, he _was _going to be sick. He could feel it.

_"I'll see you tonight, Michael. Eight thirty, Babylon. I'll be waiting…"_

_Click._ The voice hung up its phone, and Michael did the same. He leaned against the wall, his hand still pressed against his mouth. "Oh, God," he mumbled, dashing back towards his bathroom.

Hunter exited his room, earphones on, his CD player blaring. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of Vanilla Pepsi. As he opened it, he hit the PAUSE button on his walkman. The sound that instantly filled his ears was the sound of a toilet flushing.

Hunter shrugged slightly and quickly chugged his Pepsi. As he turned to go back to his room, he saw Michael exiting the bathroom, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. "Hey," he said, as Michael walked to the cupboard and removed a glass, "are you all right?"

Michael filled up the glass with tap water and drank, feeling the cool liquid washing away the vile taste of vomit. "Yeah," he replied, once he had finished. "I'm okay." The taste of his lie was even worse that the previous taste. _Why should I lie to him?_ he asked himself as Hunter walked back into his room, closing the door behind him. _I'm like his father…but I don't think that he should be worried with this…_

He walked over and sat back down on his couch. He could actually _feel_ his stalker's eyes on him. The nausaus feeling came back and Michael laid down on the couch, his arm draped over his face. He moaned slightly, trying to relax...but he was still having that _feeling_, the feeling that Ben had nearly shrugged off that very afternoon. Well, not so much "shrugged off" as "did nothing about." Except say for Michael to call him.

_Should I even tell Ben about this?_ Michael asked himself. _I know that it would be safer, but I could never stand to see Ben worried like that...and I know that he'll want to call the police. I don't think that I want that. I just want for my stalker to be able to "move on," and maybe if I go to Babylon tonight, that's exactly what will happen._

Michael sighed. He knew that not telling Ben could be one of the worst decisions that he could make, but it would obviously be the safest. Or, at the very least, telling _someone_: Brian, Emmett...anyone. But would it help at all? Would it make that _feeling_ go away?

Michael sat upright at the sound of the door opening. "Hey," he greeted, once he saw Ben enter the room.

"Hey yourself," Ben replied, smiling at him. "How are you feeling? Any better than before?"

_Just tell him. It's the right thing to do and you know it, Novotny,_ he told himself, but instead he smiled back at his boyfriend and said, "Yeah, much better."

"No more 'feelings?'" Ben asked, sitting down next to Michael on the couch and wrapping his arm around the smaller man's shoulders.

_If you only knew what happened, you wouldn't be teasing me about them,_ Michael thought. "No. None. I guess I was just...imagining them, or something." Michael began to feel sick again, but in a different way. Lying to his almost-son _and_ his lover in less than one hour. He was not acting like himself today, and for good reason...

"Good," Ben replied, leaning over and pressing his lips to Michael's. Michael did not pull away, but he did not return the kiss, either; he simply stared out of the window at the other apartments. His stalker was watching...

Ben pulled away and looked at Michael, as though inspecting him. "Are you _sure_ you're alright?" he asked, sounding a little concerned.

Michael nodded. "I'm fine. Really."

"Well, that's good," Ben replied, standing up. "Is Hunter home yet?"

Michael nodded and stood up as well. "Yeah, he's in his room doing homework. At least, I _hope_ he is. Correction: he _better_ be," he added, a bit louder, so that Hunter, if he was listening, could hear.

Ben chuckled. "So, what are you up for tonight? A little dinner and a movie?" He leaned down and pecked Michael's lips. Once again, Michael did not return the kiss; he seemed distracted. "Michael?" Ben asked, trying to get his attention.

"Huh? Oh, sorry…what was it?"

Ben sighed. "What are you up for tonight?" he repeated, saying each word carefully.

"Oh…" Michael paused. _At Babylon, around eight thirty tonight. I'll be waiting for you._ The stalker's voice echoed throughout his mind. _Babylon__…eight thirty…_ "Well, Ben, there's something I need to tell you," Michael began, glancing towards the window again.

"What?" Ben asked, looking so content that Michael hated to ruin it.

_Just say it, Novotny,_ he told himself. _Just say, Ben, I got a letter from a stalker and then the stalker called me and said for us to meet at Babylon tonight and…help me. Just say it!_ "I…" Michael paused; why was it so difficult to say?

_Because you don't want to make him worry,_ he said, answering his own question. _And why _should_ you make him worry? All it takes is a quick conversation at Babylon, and then the stalking is over, right?_ Michael sighed. "Ben…"

* * *

_I can see him talking to Ben. Is he telling him about me? Or are they discussing going to Babylon? Or are they talking about the conversation Michael and I had?_

_As I recall the earlier conversation with Michael, my heart begins to ache. I did not want to make him afraid of me. All I want is to see him…that's all it'll take, and then he'll be mine. Forever._

_Eight thirty, I told him. Babylon. It's perfect; I'm _always_ at Babylon at eight thirty. I'm surprised that he hasn't noticed me before. But before he didn't know. But now he'll know. He'll know that he and I were made for each other. He'll know that we're soul mates. He'll know…_

* * *

"Ben…" Michael took a deep breath. "I just want you to know that…I think that we should go to Babylon tonight. Around eight o'clock."

Ben nodded. "Okay, that sounds fine. Around eight o'clock? Why, is there some special show going on?"

_In a way_, Michael thought. "No…it's just a time that I thought we should, you know, get there. Is that okay?" He forced a smile.

"Yeah, that's fine." Ben cocked an eyebrow at Michael, but smiled nonetheless.

"Okay, so we'll leave at around eight-ish." Michael reached up and gave Ben a kiss, but looked out the window as he did so.

_At Babylon, around eight thirty tonight. I'll be waiting for you._

_To Be Continued…_

Author's Note (continued…)-Chapter Two is finished! Yea! Okay, now please review, and I'll make sure that Chapter Three is up as soon as possible.


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators. I also do not own the drug Somnulin. I am simply borrowing it for my story.

Author's Note-Thanks to my reviewers, AllyCat1980, ElberethCrickhollow, "JadedLady," and blondenbeautiful. The beginning of this chapter is kind of boring, I think, but the story will pick up, don't worry :-) Everything mentioned at the beginning of the chapter WILL have relevance later in the story. And a warning: this chapter contains dark themes, but do not flame! Okay, now please read and review.

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Perhaps the feelings that we experience  
when we are in love represent a normal state.  
Being in love shows a person  
who he should be.  
-Anton Chekhov

This love has taken its toll on me  
She said goodbye too many times before  
And her heart is breaking in front of me  
And I have no choice   
'Cause I won't say goodbye anymore  
-Maroon 5 "This Love"

I've found a reason to show  
A side of me you didn't know  
A reason for all that I do  
And the reason is you  
-Hoobastank "The Reason"

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

Pat. Pat. Pat. _The raindrops splash loudly against the window glass. I stare out of my window and look up at the sky; dark, dark clouds are beginning to form in the sky. I hope that the rain does not affect Michael's and my "plan" for tonight._

_My hand slides down the glass. I can see, but just barely, movement in Michael's apartment: he's getting dressed-_that_ much I can tell. Apparently the rain is not going to change Michael's mind about meeting me at __Babylon__. _

_A smile creeps over my face. I'm really going to _meet_ him. Finally. After waiting so, so long . . . too long._

_I sit down at my kitchen counter, where my laptop is sitting. As I switch on my laptop, my stomach churns for tonight's meeting with _him_. I do not think that I have ever been this excited. Maybe the day that I bought "Rage" from his comic book store and we conversed slightly, but on no other day have I been so happy, and yet frightened at the same time._

_The computer screen flickers, and my desktop appears; it is a collage of, what else, pictures of Michael. But only the very _best_ pictures._

_As I go onto my e-mail account, I see that I have a new message from Carol Spade: _**CSpadeSFMed.org.**

_Carol: my best, and only, friend from my hometown. Carol knows all about Michael; I tell her all about Michael, his life, and how much he means to me. And, unlike all of my other friends, Carol does not think what I do is wrong._

_I'm amazed that she was actually allowed on the computers; the last time she was on, she tried to send a virus to all of the computers in the building where she stays._

_There is only one thing wrong with Carol, and that is that she believes that Michael is a horrible person for what he has unwittingly done to me. Besides that, she thinks that he is _very _attractive and seems like a wonderful person._

_ Carol and I are actually a lot more like one another than people think; the biggest similarity she and I have is that we both suffer from depression. She was first diagnosed with it about five years ago, a year before I moved to __Pennsylvania__. Another similarity is that she and I got depression in the same way: not being with the person we love._

_Carol was deeply in love with this guy during our senior year of high school, David, but he did not love her back. In fact, he told everyone in sight that she was an obsessive stalker (ironic?) and for everyone to stay away from her. Everyone, except for me, but I went to a different school, deserted her, and her loneliness caused her to slip into a deep depression, which is why she did not go to college._

_Dr. Ogden, from the San Francisco Medical Center, where Carol now lives full time, is Carol's "personal" doctor. Apparently he's the only one who can handle her. I visited her once, and I remember thinking, _Is this how _I _could turn out?_ She's been in the __Med.__Center__ even since June 2, 1999, our graduation day; the day that she almost killed herself…_

_I do not want what happened to Carol to happen to me, and I am going to make sure that it doesn't. I will not give in to the hate from the one I love. I will be loved by him. And then there will be no need for death._

_I stand up and walk towards my bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. If Michael brings Ben along, which he most likely will, I need to have a back-up plan. I can't talk to Michael if Ben is there. It won't be perfect, then. And it has to be. And it _will_ be._

_My eyes glance over all of the medicine in the cabinet. They land on the bottle I was looking for: Somnulin. I reach in and take it off of the small shelf it had been standing on. The label reads, "Experience deep, restful, uninterrupted sleep..." I stick the bottle into my pocket._

_I glance at my watch; it is almost __seven o'clock__. I had better get to __Babylon__ now. I grab my jacket and walk out of my apartment, locking the door behind me…_

* * *

"Ben, hurry up, we're going to be late!" Michael called to his boyfriend with an aggravated glance at his watch. It was almost ten until eight and he was becoming extremely anxious. He had been pacing the area near the front door for the past five minutes, waiting for Ben to finish getting ready.

"Okay Michael, I'm ready." Ben walked out of the bathroom, fixing the collar on his shirt. "What's the hurry, anyways?"

Michael shook his head. "I don't know; I guess there _isn't _a hurry, really. But I'm just…so ready to go." Michael forced a smile and handed Ben his jacket from off of the coat rack.

"Uh-huh." Ben took his jacket from Michael and pulled it on. "Well, if you're _really_ in a hurry to go, we'd better get a move on then."

Michael mumbled an incoherent response that Ben could only guess was "Okay." As Michael placed his hand on the doorknob, Ben turned and looked at Hunter, who was sitting on the couch, playing his hand-held video game. "Hunter, we'll be home around," he glanced quickly at Michael, "eleven, would you say?"

Michael nodded and mumbled another incoherent response which sounded slightly like "Yeah, eleven."

"All right," Hunter replied in an I'm-not-really-listening tone of voice, not taking his eyes off of the video game.

"I want you in bed when we get home, understand?" Ben asked, watching Michael out of the corner of his eye. He could see Michael fidgiting nervously and glancing at his own watch every so often.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Hunter murmured.

"Okay, let's go, Ben," Michael said, pulling open the door and gesturing for Ben to leave. Ben followed Michael's gesture and left the apartment.

As they walked down the stairs, Ben could sense how anxious Michael was acting. "Michael?" Michael looked at Ben in a silent response. "Are you sure that you feel...up to going out tonight?"

"I-" Michael's voice cracked slightly and he coughed. "I'm sure. Really, I'm fine...really," he added, firmly, off of Ben's questioning glance.

Ben shrugged; he did not want to push the matter any further, but he could tell that Michael was not being honest with him--a feature that was completely out-of-character for him.

As they stepped outside, they were greeted with a downpour of cold rain droplets. "Should we hail a cab?" Ben asked, looking up at the sky, which was growing darker by the second.

Michael nodded, but appeared to not have heard Ben's question, or even noticed the rain that was beginning to pour down from the sky.

Ben and Michael arrived at Babylon at, according to Michael's watch, twelve after eight. _I hope that this works, _Michael thought, as soon as they entered the club. _Where am I supposed to meet him?_ Michael asked himself, looking nervously around the room.

"I'm going to go and get a drink," Michael said, loudly, beginning to push his way through the crowds of dancing men.

Before he could get too far away, Ben reached out and grabbed Michael by the wrist and let Michael lead him towards the bar. "Cosmo, please," Michael told the bartender.

The bartender nodded, and turned around to prepare Michael's drink. "Wow, a Cosmopolitian already?" Ben teased, wrapping his arms around Michael's waist.

Michael inhaled deeply, and accepted the glass when the bartender handed it to him. "Thanks," he said, quietly.

The bartender nodded in reply and turned around to serve someone else. Michael sipped absentmindedly at his drink, not really hearing the music, nor the excited voices around him. _Oh, my God, I can't believe that I'm going through with this, oh, my God, this is crazy!_

Michael tipped his head back and swallowed the rest of his drink in one quick swallow. He noticed Ben eying him suspiciously. "I'm just...thirsty," he explained, sitting his empty glass onto the bar.

"Hmm." Ben rested his chin on Michael's head, obviously waiting for Michael to go out and dance. Michael glanced at his watch, trying to read it in the flashing lights. _Eight twenty one_, he thought. _I still have time to leave. Who cares if some guy...watches me? All of the time..._

Michael sighed. "Hey Ben. I think that maybe we should-" He paused; the lights had suddenly become dimmer. Michael rubbed at his eyes, hoping to clear his vision. "I-" He placed his hands on the bar, feeling suddenly drowzy. "I need to go to the bathroom. I'll...I'll be right back."

Michael turned around and walked swiftly towards the restroom. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and walked clumsily inside. He stopped in front of a sink and, placing his hands on either side of the sink, he looked at his reflection in the mirror. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he asked his reflection.

The lights dimmed dramatically, and a sense of exhaustion took over him. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes. "What the-" He did not finish the rest of his question; he sat down on the ground, his back against the wall, and pulled his knees close to his chest.

His eyes danced swiftly around the room, which was growing darker and darker. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed and a deep sleep overtook him was a red, blinking exit sign from the back of the restroom...

Ben glanced around at the club, waiting for Michael to return from the bathroom. His head turned back towards the bar at the sound of a voice. "Hey, Glenn, your shift is over. Want me to take over?"

Ben turned away, not caring about the conversation the was going on between the two bartenders. "Damn it, Michael; if you weren't feeling good, we shouldn't have gone out," he murmured to himself, leaning against the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bartender whose shift was over make his way through the crowd towards the bathroom.

Ben considered momentarily to go to Michael in the restroom and see if he was feeling all right, but he decided against it; Michael had already told him that he was feeling okay. Many times, in fact, and simply asking him again would do nothing more than aggrivate him...

Michael was lying on the floor of the bathroom in a deep, deep sleep. Somehow, however, he could hear the door opening and closing. He could feel two strong hands sliding underneath him. He could feel himself being carried outside and being placed in a car. He could feel and hear all of these things, but the inability to do anything about it was frightening and slightly haunting...

* * *

"Michael?" Ben had been looking for his boyfriend for nearly twenty minutes. He pushed past all of the dancing men around him, searching for the small, dark-haired man. "Michael?!" he called again, making towards the bathroom. He assumed that he would find Michael in there, looking into a mirror just to be sure he looked as good as he could.

He entered the bathroom and looked inside. "Michael?" he called again, waiting for a reply. He looked in each stall, in every corner, and found nothing. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. _Where could he be? I didn't see him out _there_, and he would have told me if he was leaving,_ Ben thought as he exited the restroom.

The sick feeling of nausea was flowing through his stomach. _Damn it, Michael, if you left without telling me…_

Ben walked back towards the bar, where he had been sitting earlier with Michael. _Maybe the bartender saw where he went; he _did _leave right after Michael._ "Excuse me?!" he said loudly, sitting down at the bar. The bartender looked over at him; an older man than the previous bartender. "Umm…where's the other bartender?" he asked.

"Oh, you mean Glenn? He went home; his shift's over."

"Oh," Ben replied, both confused and aggravated. He ran a hand through his hair, looking around at all of the dancers, hoping to see Michael hidden within the crowd.

* * *

Michael rubbed his head, feeling the pulse thumping in his temples. "Oh God," he murmured, blinking his eyes a few times in an attempt to rid himself of the haze that had fallen over his eyes. "What the fuck-" He pushed himself into a sitting position and, hand still pressed against his head, looked around the room he was in. The sight sent his stomach flying into his chest… 

Everywhere he looked, he saw…himself. The walls were covered with pictures of him; his name was anywhere and everywhere you looked. "Oh my God, I'm with that guy from the phone. Oh shit."

He swallowed the lump that was in his throat, hoping it would cause the nauseous feeling to disappear with it. He flung his legs over the side of the bed he had been lying on and attempted to stand. As soon as he was in a full standing position, Michael felt his legs give way and he fell to the ground with a grunt. "Ugh. I feel like I've been drugged or…or something," he whispered, sitting up.

His attention was drawn to a shiny black box that was beneath the bed. He slipped his hand underneath and pulled out the box. He opened the lid and peered inside; arranged in the box were cassette tapes. The feature that caught his eye was that each of the cassettes tapes was labeled with his name: "MICHAEL-PHONE," "MICHAEL-STORE," and so on…

Michael ran a hand through his dark hair and closed the box. After pushing the box back underneath the bed, he saw a notebook that had been lying next to the black box of cassettes. He reached under and pulled the notebook out. He opened the cardboard cover and looked inside the book. Written in perfect handwriting, over and over, were the words: "_Michael Novotny Michael Novotny Michael Novotny Michael Novotny Michael Novotny_…"

Michael flipped through the notebook, looking through all of the pages, seeing only his name, written over and over and over…

"What kind of a sick bastard would be this obsessed?" he asked himself in a low voice.

His head turned at the sound of a doorknob jiggling. He pushed the notebook back under the bed and stood up, leaning against the wall. The door opened and a tall man with jet-black hair, pale, pale skin, and fierce green eyes, entered. Michael instantly recognized him as the bartender from Babylon; the same bartender who had given him his drink. "Y-you?" he stammered, his voice hitching on the simple word.

"Michael Novotny," the bartender said, smiling a lust-filled smile. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. As soon as the bartender had taken that one step closer, Michael had taken a step backwards, so that he was pressed up against the wall. "How are you?"

Michael's eyes narrowed in confusion. This man had, basically, kidnapped him, and all he wanted to know what how he was?! "How am I?" Michael repeated. "I've been drugged and kidnapped by a fucking _stalker_, how the hell do you think I am?!"

"Michael, Michael," the bartender said, soothingly, holding up his hands, "don't get angry. I'm sorry that I had to, you know, drug you, but I _had_ to."

"You _had_ to?" Michael's mouth fell agape. _That's it_, he thought, _this guy really _is_ insane._

"You were with your boyfriend. I couldn't talk to you in front of him. Besides, would you have actually talked to me if I had just approached you?" the bartender asked, stepping one step closer to Michael.

Michael pressed himself closer against the wall. "Umm, _no,_" he replied, his angry overlapped by fear.

"You see? I _had_ to. I _need _you." The bartender took another step towards Michael. "I've waited so long…" He took a few more steps so that he was standing not a foot away from Michael. "So long…" he repeated, looking down at Michael, lust and desire gleaming in his green eyes.

Michael's heart began to race. "I-I-I'm sorry, but I don't know you…and I have a boyfriend-"

"Yes, I know," the bartender snapped, his eyes narrowing. "Ben." Hate and anger had filled his eyes, overpowering the love that had been there only seconds earlier. "He doesn't deserve you, you know. You deserve someone who won't kill you if you have sex with him. You deserve someone like…me. I'm Glenn Rosenthal." He smiled, his perfect, white teeth shining. "I love you," he whispered, leaning down and pressing his lips to Michael's.

Taken aback, Michael turned his head, breaking the kiss. "Don't," he said, sliding down the wall away from Glenn. "No…" He tried to walk past Glenn, towards the door, but immediately felt a head rush when his weight was transferred to his legs. He swung, off balance, and fell onto the bed, rubbing his eyes.

Glenn sat down on the bed next to Michael. "I love you," he said, not seeming to have heard Michael's protests. He reached out and gently caressed Michael's face.

Michael shook his head in an attempt to rid Glenn's hands from his cheeks. "No," he said again, his vision beginning to darken. "D…don't."

Glenn still did not hear his pleads; his hands remained on Michael's face and he leaned in against, pressing his lips to Michael's. "I love you," he repeated, kissing Michael again, tenderly.

Michael tried to move, but was still feeling the effects of the drugs. "No…no…don't. Ben?" he mumbled. Everything was continuing to slip into a deep, deep darkness. His head lolled and all of the strength began to fade from his body. He laid down on the bed, his vision both dark and hazy.

He saw Glenn smile. He heard Glenn say "I love you." He saw Glenn shift towards him. He felt Glenn press his lips against his own. He felt Glenn move onto him. He watched as Glenn pulled off his shirt and began to kiss him all over. He heard Glenn continue to mumble, "I love you, I love you."

The darkness suddenly overtook him and he could do nothing more than hear, feel, and remember everything that happened after that…

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

Author's Note (continued)-I guess I don't have anything more to say...except _review_!! Thanks to all who do!


	5. Chapter Four

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Many thanks go out to my reviewers, LizzieBear, Nuncaptive, Vindicated-Hero, blondenbeautiful, and Jeremiah Smith. Thanks guys!

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

When dealing with the insane,  
the best method is to pretend  
to be sane.  
-Hermann Hesse

There is no greater sorrow  
than to recall in misery  
the time when we were happy.  
-Dante

My life closed twice before its close  
It yet remains to see  
If Immortality unveil  
A third event to me,  
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,  
As these that twice befell.  
Parting is all we know of heaven,  
And all we need of hell.  
-Emily Dickinson

My lover's gone  
No earthly ships will ever  
Bring him home again.  
-Dido "My Lover's Gone"

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

"Michael?!" Ben shouted Michael's name one final time before exiting Babylon. _Where the fuck did he go? _he asked himself. He was trying to remain angry at his boyfriend for leaving, but a nagging thought in the back of his mind continued to tell him that Michael would never simply leave him, especially since it was his idea to come to Babylon in the first place.

Ben arrived out on the street, pulling out his cell phone from his pants' pocket. He pressed the first digit of Michael's cell phone when a voice from behind him made him stop instantly: "Well, hello Professor."

Ben erased the single number that he had punched in and slid the cell phone back into his pocket. He spun around to see Brian and Justin, Brian with a cigarette in between his lips, Justin with his arm around Brian's waist, standing in front of Babylon.

"Hello Brian. Hi Justin," he greeted, not wanting to engage in conversation; he simply wanted to find out where the hell Michael had gone. "Have either of you seen Michael tonight? Or heard from him at all?"

Justin shook his head. "I haven't seen him since this morning," he said, shrugging his shoulder, awkwardly. "Why?"

"Well, we were in Babylon, he ordered a drink, he went to the bathroom, and then…" Ben threw up his hands in a gesture of confusion, "--he's gone."

"Gone?" Brian repeated, a small smirk appearing over his lips. "You lost Mikey?"

Ben stuck his hands in his pockets and let out a groan of aggravation. Only Brian could act so…Ben did not even know the right word to describe him…even when it regarded his best friend's missing. "Yes Brian. I lost Mikey," he said, rolling his eyes. "I looked everywhere in there and," he paused, shaking his head. "He's not in there anymore."

"Are you sure that you looked _everywhere_?" Brian asked, pulling a lighter out of his pocket and lighting his cigarette.

"Well, unless he was moving around the whole time, I wasn't able to find him."

"You know what I think happened?" Brian asked, exhaling a small cloud of smoke as he spoke. Ben shook his head, not wanting to know what Brian thought had happened, nor caring. "I think that he was so hammered that he found someone who looks like you, and now they're fucking in a dark room as we speak." His sarcastic smile stayed upon his face even as he inhaled on his cigarette.

Ben shook his head. "That's great and all, Brian, but I've got to find Michael. It's not like him to want to go somewhere and just leave without telling me."

"I'm sure you'll find him," Justin piped in, taking a small step towards the entrance to Babylon.

Ben nodded. "Yeah. Well, I'm going to head back to our apartment. Maybe he _did_ tell me that he was leaving, and I just...didn't hear him."

"And if he _is_ in there, we'll tell him that you went home," Justin added, as Brian began to pull him towards Babylon.

"Bye Professor. Hope you…_find_ Mikey," Brian shouted over his shoulder, putting such a heavy emphasis on "find" that Ben was tempted to shout something back at him, but quickly decided against it; he was more interested in finding Michael than he was trying to put Brian in his place.

As he turned around to begin walking towards his apartment building, Ben pulled out his cell phone again and quickly punched in Michael's cell phone number. He pressed the receiver to his ear and listened to the monotone ringing at the opposite end of the line. _Well,_ he thought, _at least I know that Michael's cell phone is on._

The opposite line rang again. "Come on, Michael. Pick up, pick up," Ben mumbled. His continuous chant of "pick up" was interrupted at the sound of Michael's voice. _"Hello--"_

"Hello, Michael?" Ben asked, excitedly, only to have his excitement fall as Michael's voice turned out to be simply his voice mail. Ben pressed the END button on his cell phone. _His cell phone is on, but why isn't he answering? _he asked himself.

Ben contemplated calling the apartment and asking Hunter if Michael was there, but decided against it. He didn't want to involve Hunter with all of this chaos…until he absolutely had to.

He stuck his cell phone back into his pocket and continued walking--rather swiftly--down the street towards his building. All the way, he continued to try and remember if Michael had mentioned having any desire to leave.

He rubbed at his temple; Michael hadn't made any comments that involved leaving or wanting to leave or even that he was thinking about leaving. In fact, Michael had been pretty passionate about going to Babylon in the first place. It had been his idea to go in the first place as well.

_Wouldn't it be something, _Ben thought, trying to think optimistically_, if Michael wasn't missing at all? What if he did tell me that he was leaving, and I just didn't hear, because of the music? And now he's just sitting at home, safe, and I'm out here worrying about him. _Ben forced a chuckle, in a desperate attempt to cheer himself up. _Wouldn't that be something?_

It_ would _be something. Something Ben would be sure to tell Michael about so that they could laugh about it. In his mind, Ben saw Michael shaking his head in mock pity for him and then laughing, telling him not to worry about him, that he can take care of himself.

Ben smiled._ I'll bet that's just what's going to happen, _he thought, feeling slightly better, a small part of the anxiety he had been feeling now gone.

He arrived in front of his building. As he walked up the stairs, the anxiety returned, perhaps even more noticeable than it had been earlier. He stopped outside of his apartment, staring at the door, suddenly feeling like he did not want to go inside. He did not want to know if Michael was, in fact, inside. Because what if he was wrong?

Inhaling deeply, Ben pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. The first thing he saw before even entering the apartment was Hunter sitting on the couch watching television.

"Hey Dude," Hunter greeted, his eyes only leaving the television for a split-second to glance quickly at Ben. "Why are you home so early? I thought you and _Dad_," he said, sarcastically, "would be out partying until later_."_

"Speaking of_ Dad_," Ben said, using the same sarcasm Hunter had on the word _Dad_, "is Michael here?"

Hunter shook his head. "No."

"Has he been here at all since we left?" Ben asked, his heart rate picking up speed.

"No." Hunter paused, his eyes leaving the television and shifting towards Ben again. When his eyes met Ben's, Ben could see the nervousness in his adoptive son's expression. "Why?"

"Well, we were at Babylon and he went to the bathroom and…" Ben paused, feeling even more nervous now that he had to explain it again. "…he didn't come back," he finished. The very words sounded like something out of a suspense or horror film, but it was exactly what had happened; Michael had gone to the restroom and had not returned.

Hunter swallowed. "Well, maybe he's still at Babylon. Did you think of that?"

"Yeah. I saw Brian and Justin before I left and they said that if they saw him that they'd tell him I went home."

Hunter cocked an eyebrow. "Do you really think they'll tell him."

Ben grimaced slightly. "Well…if he comes up and talks to them. But besides that…" He trailed off, thinking about it. "Yeah, I'm sure they'll tell him."

Hunter shrugged. "I'm sure he's fine."

Ben exhaled loudly, casting a glance towards the window. "Yeah…" His voice trailed off, and, in a voice too low for Hunter to hear: "Maybe."

* * *

Michael's eyelids slid open and, almost immediately, he felt a painful burning in his eyes. He moaned in agony, reaching up to rub at his pained eyes. When the burning had gone down slightly, he closed his eyes again and tried to remember what the hell had happened the previous night. 

He assumed that he had had _way_ too much to drink; he now had the worst hangover he could ever remember having.

Eyes still closed, he reached over to his right in hopes of being able to snuggle up close to Ben when, to Michael's great surprise, his hand landed on nothing…no Ben, no empty mattress, just…empty space.

His eyes snapped open in alarm. He sat upright in the bed, glancing anxiously around the room he was in. Where _was _he? He did not recognize the room at all…except…he did. He did recognize it, as though it was from some dream. Or some nightmare.

His heart began to race. He turned and looked at the wall behind him…and froze. As he looked and stared at the collage of pictures that were taped upon the wall--the collage of him--everything, all of the horrible, pain-filled memories, came flooding back to him: the bartender from Babylon…drugging him, kidnapping him…and--Michael's throat and chest tightened as he remembered--_raping_ him.

_Oh my God, _he thought, beginning to feel sick as he noticed a fresh bruise on his forearm…and another on his upper arm, and a wide assortment of scratches, bruises, and marks scattered on his chest and stomach. And he was too nervous to look any lower.

_Oh my God, he thought again. I was-- _He could not even bring himself to think the word. But he knew what had happened. He now remembered it all too clearly…

He climbed clumsily out of the bed and, trying desperately not to look at his lower body, although he could feel that it was definitely bruised and swollen, walked over to where he could see his boxers had been thrown. He stooped down and, trying to ignore the blinding pain in his body, picked up the boxers. With some difficulty, he was able to pull them on.

Michael glanced around the room, searching for his pants. If there was one thing he did not want while he was in the same place as his stalker, it was to be completely--or even partially--naked. He saw them balled up, lying in the corner of the room. He half-walked, half-limped, over to them and leaned down to pick them up.

Before his hand touched the fabric, a high-pitched ringing erupted, breaking the silence that had been in the room since he had awoken. The sudden noise made Michael jump, but he grabbed at his pants, reaching into the pocket and removing his cell phone.

The caller i.d. read _"Ben"_ and Michael felt his heart jump. "Oh, thank God," he murmured, preparing to answer the phone.

"Don't." The sudden, angry voice came so abruptly that Michael dropped the phone onto the floor, where it stayed, unbroken, and the ringing continuing. "Don't answer it," Glenn said from the doorway, his hand outstretched in front of him, his index finger pointing at Michael threatingly.

"I-I..." As Michael looked upon Glenn's stone-like face, completely devoid of any distress or sorrow over what had happened the previous night, and closed his mouth.

Glenn lowered his hand and smiled--a smile that was so soft and unnatural that it sent a chill up Michael's spine. Obviously Glenn had no recollection of what had happened. "Michael," he said, his voice matching his smile. "Thank you."

Michael opened his mouth to reply. "Wh-what?" he said, confused. "For...for what?"

"For earlier. For what we did. Thank you."

Michael shook his head. _Does he not know what he did?_ he asked himself. _Does he not realize that he...took advantage of me? Judging from his expression, I'd say not. _"Listen," he said, his voice sounding a lot braver than he felt, "You and I didn't do anything. You...you..." His voice trailed off, not knowing what to say. "You...r...raped me," he finished, the realization of it all suddenly sinking in as the words came out. He felt his legs suddenly begin to give out, and he sat down on the bed.

Glenn looked at Michael, a look in his eyes: pity. Michael's eyes narrowed. He did not want to be _pitied_ by him. He wanted Glenn to actually _realize_ what the fuck he did! "Michael," Glenn began, taking a step towards him, "thank you," he said again, as if he had not heard a word Michael had said.

"Thank you," Glenn said again, smiling softly down at Michael. "You don't know how long I've waited for us to be together. I've waited _so_ long..."

"Do you realize what the fuck you did to me last night?!" Michael shouted.

Glenn's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Last night?" he repeated. "Michael, it's only been about..." He glanced at his watch. "...half an hour, not even."

"Half an hour?" Michael said. Why had he automatically assumed that it was morning? As he looked around the room, he realized why. There were no windows in the room he was in. The only light was coming from the standing lamps in two of the corners of the room.

Glenn nodded. "Yes. But don't worry; we have forever to be together." Glenn walked slowly towards Michael and sitting down next to him on the bed. Michael, in return, shifted away from Glenn. "I've waited for so long," Glenn said, reaching out and gently running his fingers through Michael's hair.

"Don't," Michael said, abruptly, moving away from Glenn's touch. "Listen, I don't--"

"--you know," Glenn interrupted, moving closer to Michael, "before I saw you, all I could think about was dying. It was all I ever wanted. But then...I found you. You kept me alive."

Michael opened his mouth to say something in reply, but found that he could not. What could you say to _that_? Suddenly, he felt bad for Glenn...and he hated himself for it. _How can you feel sorry for someone who just...did what he did?_ he asked himself. He did not know how, but he did.

Glenn moved even closer to Michael and wrapped his arm around Michael's shoulders. "Thank you," he said again.

Not knowing what else to say, Michael looked Glenn in the eye and said, softly, "You're welcome."

* * *

Ben laid in bed, fully awake, but desperately wanting to go to sleep, because, maybe, when he awoke, he would discover Michael lying in bed with him, just back from a long night of dancing at Babylon with Brian and Justin. You never know, he _might_ have stayed with them...if he was even there... 

_No, don't think about it,_ he told himself. _Of _course_ Michael is there. He has to be. He's still at Babylon, and you were stupid to ever leave._

But, subconsiously, he knew that something was wrong. He felt that he should be doing something more. He felt that he should be trying to call Michael, or going back to Babylon, or calling Debbie, Ted, Emmett..._anyone_, but no; there he was, lying in bed, hoping and praying that Michael returns home safe.

He sighed. _God, if there _is_ something wrong, I am going to scold myself about this for the rest of my life. _He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that there was no one on the opposite side of the bed. _But there _isn't _anything wrong,_ he insisted. _So why worry about it?_

He inhaled deeply and shifted uncomfortably in his bed. Even with the nagging "what-ifs" attacking his mind, Ben was somehow able to drift off to sleep, knowing, deep down, that something was not right. Something...

_To Be Continued_...

* * *

Author's Note (Continued...)-If it seems that I was going off on Brian, I wasn't. I promise. :-) Anyways, please review and give feedback. Thanks all!


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Many thanks to my reviewers: "BURNcraigBURN," spalharks, blondenbeautiful, "brian's gurl," Jeremiah Smith, "Sydney," "FW," and SweetNightmares. Don't forget to review this chapter if you read it!

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

When we lose one we love,   
our bitterest tears are called forth  
by the memory of hours   
when we loved not enough.  
-Maurice Maeterlinck: "Wisdom and Destiny"

Faithless is he that says farewell   
when the road darkens.  
-J. R. R. Tolkien

Love is an irresistable desire   
to be irresistably desired.  
-Robert Frost

So hold me when I'm here   
Right me when I'm wrong.  
Hold me when I'm scared   
And love me when I'm gone.  
-The B-52s "Love Me When I'm Gone"

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

"Go now," Glenn said, his blissful smile plastered across his face. "Sleep." He stood up off of the bed and crossed over to the opposite side of the room, where a rolling chair sat. He took a hold of the chair back and slowly rolled the chair next to the bed.

Michael watched all of this in confusion, but did not move from where he sat. "Sleep," Glenn said again as he sat down in the chair.

Michael shook his head. "No, I really don't think that I can-"

"Sleep." Glenn's eyes flashed with a sudden anger, and the sharpness of his voice told Michael that he should do as Glenn said. He did not fully know if Glenn was willing to hurt him, but the bruises that were scattered across his body and the fact that Glenn had been willing to drug him told Michael that Glenn was not completely opposed to violence.

Michael swung his legs back onto the bed, whimpering when the wall brushed his legs where one of his fresh bruises was. As he pulled the covers over his body, he threw a quick glance at Glenn; Glenn was simply sitting in the rolling chair, the blissful smile now returned back to its place on Glenn's face.

Michael laid his head back onto the pillow, suddenly feeling uneasy about closing his eyes when there was a psychotic stalker in the room with him.

Nevertheless, he let his eyelids slide closed. He knew that he would never be able to fall asleep, and he felt his heart ache for Ben. What was Ben even doing right now, he wondered. _Does he realize I'm gone yet? Oh, please God…let him find me._

His body shook slightly when he felt something brush through his hair. It did not take him too long to figure out the Glenn was running his fingers through his hair. He wanted terribly to make Glenn stop the he did not know how to.

What if Glenn _was _capable of hurting more than he already had? Keeping that last question in mind, Michael could do nothing more that lay where he was, allowing Glenn to continue touching him affectionately.

"I knew it would happen," Glenn mumbled, stroking Michael's hair gently. "I knew. Now we'll be together forever."

Glenn placed his hand on top of Michael's, which was lying above the blankets, next to the pillow. It was that moment when Michael silently scolded himself for not keeping as much of his body as possible where Glenn could not reach it.

"I knew it would happen. Now we'll be together forever," Glenn mumbled again, as though he was unaware that he had just said that exact statement. Michael held back a shudder; he assumed that that was how people talked when they were standing on that line between reality and utter insanity.

Suddenly, Glenn's grip around Michael's hand tightened, and Michael, even in spite that his eyes were shut, could see that look of blinding anger in Glenn's eyes that he had seen before, when he had refused Glenn's order to try and fall asleep. "But why?" Glenn said, his voice shaking with, what Michael could only guess was, rage. "Why don't you love me the way that I love you?" he asked, inhaling loudly, then exhaling as though in an attempt to calm himself. "Why don't you love me?" he added, tightening his grip on Michael's hand.

Michael felt Glenn's fingernails piercing the skin on his hand. "Why don't you . . . love me?" Glenn said again, in a lower tone-of-voice, his fingernails digging into Michael's hand even deeper. Michael bit his tongue to keep himself from making any noise; he did not want to infuriate Glenn by acknowledging the fact that he was actually awake.

"Whydontyouloveme?" The sentence came out as one long, anger-drenched hiss. Michael heard Glenn cross, then uncross his legs, obviously fidgeting in his seat. His fingers wrapped even tighter around Michael's hand, which, in turn, caused Michael to bite his tongue even harder.

Glenn sniffed. _Is he crying?_ Michael wondered, his tongue still in between his teeth. _Is that little bastard _crying? Glenn sniffed again, bringing his hand, still holding Michael's, up to his own eyes. He ran his (and Michael's) hand across his eyes, and Michael could feel that there was moisture in Glenn's eyes.

Somehow, he wasn't sure exactly _how_ (but it was there, nevertheless), Michael felt a sudden empathy for the young man who had (_Keep this in mind, Michael,_ he told himself) drugged, kidnapped, and (_Oh, go on, just say it_), raped him…and he hated himself for being able to feel _any_ sort of clemency for Glenn.

His thoughts were cut off when Glenn held back what sounded like a hiccup, although Michael could not be positive. Glenn slowly brought his (and Michael's) hand back down to the bed, lying it adjacent to the pillow, where it had been before. His fingers were still tightly intertwined around Michael's now-bloodless hand.

"Why…how…can you love _him_?" Glenn cried silently, the "him" obviously referring to Ben. "How can you love him so much, but not me?" As he spoke, his fingers gave Michael's hand a sudden squeeze, and Michael's teeth bit down harder on his tongue when he heard his knuckles pop under the abrupt pressure. The copper-flavored taste of blood began to fill Michael's mouth from the small gash in his tongue. His eyes began to fill with tears of pain, but, nonetheless, he was able to keep himself from admitting that he was not truly asleep.

It seemed like an eternity, to Michael, at least, that the two of them were in that position: Michael "asleep" on the bed, Glenn sitting on the rolling chair next to the bed, his hand a vice-like grip over Michael's. Finally, much to Michael's great relief, Glenn released his hand and stood up. Michael sighed inwardly, feeling the blood returning to his hand, but could tell that his fingers were going to be either red and raw or black and blue the next day, that was how tightly Glenn had been holding it.

Gently, silently praying that Glenn would not notice, Michael wriggled his fingers ever so slightly, in an attempt to get the blood to the tips of his fingers faster. He heard Glenn's footsteps walk towards the opposite side of the room…and then back again. Glenn's footsteps stopped just beside the bed. _What the hell is he doing?_ Michael asked himself, wanting desperately to open his eyes…just to see…_Just one eye, just one. What could it hurt? I just…have to know what he's doing…_

Michael cracked open one eye and was met with Glenn's watching face--Glenn's eyes were immediately filled with an odd mixture of both sheer sadness and absolute hatred. Michael, out of reflex, instantly drew back, both of his eyes opening wide.

Glenn, who had been sitting on the floor, a drawing sketch pad in his lap, a mechanical pencil in his hand, hopped up into a standing position, the sketch pad falling onto the floor in a crumpled mess. His eyes were glazed over with an unnatural fury that Michael had only seen in horror movies, like the "Made for TV Movie," Stephen King's _'Salem's Lot._

Michael drew up into a sitting position on the bed--the sheets and covers reminded him of Glenn's sketch pad: crumpled, tossed, disheveled. _What are you doing thinking about the sheets? _Michael asked himself. _Pay attention to the guy in front of you…and get ready to run._

Glenn took a few steps towards Michael, the fury in his eyes flashing at Michael eerily. "You…were supposed…" Glenn began, the words coming out slowly, as though he was trying as hard as he possibly could to stay calm, "…to be…_ASLEEP!" _After screaming that last word, Glenn lifted the hand that was holding the pencil and hurled it across the room. Michael watched as the plastic mechanical pencil hit the wall on the opposite side of the room and cracked. As the two separate pieces of the pencil fell to the floor, Michael returned his gaze back to Glenn, who was staring at the broken pencil, a look of fear covering his face. _If you're going to go, Michael, here's your chance. _Michael, seeing that Glenn was distracted with what he had just done, quickly crawled off of the bed and dashed towards the door leading out of the room._ I'm out I'm out I'm out_, his mind told him, excitedly. As his fingers touched the doorknob, a smile broke out over his bruised face_…I'm out…_

He grabbed the doorknob and turned…until he found that he couldn't. _The door is locked, the door is locked, the son of a bitch locked the door! _Not being able to believe that the door could be locked, Michael continued to try and turn the knob. "No…no,_ please," _he whimpered. _Oh shit_…Michael heard footsteps coming towards him from behind. _Glenn…_

Michael turned around and saw that Glenn was not two steps from reaching him. Glenn easily towered over him by, at the very least, half-a-foot. Glenn's long arms were reaching out towards Michael, as though he expected that Michael was going to walk over to him and hug him. Michael shook his head. "No…"

Glenn took the final two steps towards Michael, pinning Michael against the wall of the room.

"Why…" Glenn whimpered--an interesting tone-of-voice for someone of such a colossal stature. Glenn's arms were on each side of Michael, his hands pressed against the wall, and his body pressed up against Michael's. "Why did you try to leave?"

Michael opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Glenn's body was pressing him against the wall so tightly that he was finding it hard to breathe, much less speak. Glenn's hands slid from where they had been on the wall to Michael's shoulders.

"Why? Why?" Glenn began to mumble the word at such a low tone-of-voice that Michael found that it was impossible to hear or understand what he was saying. Michael looked up into Glenn's green eyes. Glenn stared back down at him.

They stayed like that for a matter of minutes. For a moment, Michael could almost see the part of Glenn that knew what he was doing, that knew what he had done, and being able to see it made him think that maybe, _maybe_, he could try and reason with Glenn to simply let him go.

"Glenn," Michael began, gently, "can I please go? Will you let me go? I need to get home. I need to get home to Ben…" As soon as he said it, Michael immediately regretted his words.

Glenn's eyes flashed with that fury again. "Ben…you don't need Ben. You have me. I love you more than he does…or ever will…"

"Glenn, please-"

"-_No!_" Glenn snapped, pulling Michael away from the wall and into an awkward embrace. "No, you don't _need_ him anymore." His hands slid up from Michael's shoulders up to Michael's pale face, which seemed even paler, in contrast with the bruises that were on each of his cheeks. "You have me," Glenn whispered, leaning down and pressing his lips against Michael's.

Michael attempted to pull out of the kiss, but Glenn reacted too quickly: he pressed Michael back up against the wall again.

This time, however, he did it so quickly that the back of Michael's head collided with the hard concrete wall. Alarms went off in Michael's head. His eyes, which were opened wide, danced around the room, looking for something, _anything_, to help him. His vision began to darken. _Did I really hit my head _that_ hard?_ he asked himself, although he knew that he had. His vision continued to darken, and Michael was fighting to stay conscious. _No, don't pass out, don't. You know what'll happen if you do. Don't. Don't…_

His inward struggle quickly ended when his eyelids closed, and the darkness took him…

* * *

****

The Next Morning…

Ben awoke at exactly six thirty nine the next morning. He knew that for a fact because the first thing that he did upon awakening was look at the clock on his night stand. He groaned as he climbed out of bed and stretched.

As he walked towards the door to his bedroom, his mind was racing with the same thought: _Please be here, Michael. Please,_ please _be here._ He opened the door and stepped out, looking around the apartment. The _empty_ apartment. "Oh God," he murmured, rubbing at his eyes. "Well, maybe he was here and he just went out-"

"He never came home."

Ben jumped at the unexpected response, grabbing at his chest. "Jesus! Hunter…why are you already up?"

Hunter, who was sitting on the couch staring at the television, took a deep breath. "He's not home. And he didn't come home at all last night."

Ben ran a hand through his messy hair and shook his head, as though to clear his mind of all other thoughts. "Wh…what?"  
  
"He…never…came…home," Hunter said slowly, emphasizing each word dramatically. "How much clearer do you want it?"

"He never came home?" Ben repeated, rubbing nervously at his eyes. "Are…are you sure? I mean, how do you know?"

Hunter looked over his shoulder at Ben. "I stayed up all fucking night waiting for him. You know, so that I could rag on him like you guys do to me whenever _I'm_ late." Ben looked at the dark circles underneath his foster son's eyes and saw that Hunter had indeed stayed up all night, but, even though he wasn't going to make a mention of it, Ben could tell that it was not to "rag on him," as Hunter had said.

"Oh God," Ben mumbled. "Where _is_ he?" He paused, thinking of all of the people Michael could possibly be with. _Brian? I doubt it; Brian was out with Justin, and they knew to send him home. Emmett? No, he said that he was going to be out all night for some late-night party that he was organizing. Ted? Possibly…I'll have to call him. Debbie? That seems unlikely, but anything's possible, right? And if he _is_ missing, I'll have to call her, anyway._

Ben crossed the room and picked up the phone. As he began to dial, Hunter stood up off of the couch and asked, "Who are you calling?"

"Ted," Ben replied, pressing the phone to his ear. The opposite line rang once. Twice. _"H-Hello?" _came Ted's groggy voice.

"Ted? It's Ben."

"Ben?" There was a pause, and Ben assumed that Ted was looking at either his watch or a clock so that he could tell Ben the time. _"Ben, it's a quarter 'til seven…why are you calling me?"_

"Umm, I was just wondering if Michael was with you…or if he dropped by at all last night."

There was another pause, and Ben could hear the bedcovers in the background moving. "_No. No, he's not here. I haven't seen him since yesterday morning. Why?"_ Ted added, beginning to sound nervous.

"Well, he and I went to Babylon last night, and he went to the restroom, and then…" Ben sighed; he hated having to re-tell the story. It always gave him this jolt of regret, like maybe he should have gone with Michael. Never had let Michael leave his sight. "…and then…he was gone."

Another pause. _"You know, he's probably with Brian-"_

Ben shook his head, even though Ted could not see him. "No, I saw Brian and Justin right after Michael…disappeared. And they said that if they saw him, they'd send him home."

Another pause. _"Well…did…did you…"_ Ted trailed off, becoming even more anxious. _"Are you _sure_ he hasn't been home?"_

"I'm sure. Hunter stayed up all night waiting for him." Ben tossed a quick look at Hunter, who was now sitting at the kitchen table, fighting to stay awake. "Hold on, Ted." Ben pressed the receiver of the phone to his chest. "Hey pal," he said, causing Hunter to look up at him. "Go back to bed. I'll call your school and tell them that you're sick."

Hunter nodded, standing up from the table and walking, slightly bent over, to his bedroom. "Okay Ted, sorry. I was thinking about calling Debbie. I'm not sure if he'd be there, but she should know that Michael is…you know…gone."

"Okay, you call Debbie. I'll call Emmett and Brian, just in case he saw Michael and just 'forgot.'" The sarcasm that Ted had used on the word "forgot" caused Ben to smile slightly. _"Call me if you find anything."_

"And you call _me_ if you find anything," Ben replied. "Okay, I'll call Debbie."

"Bye."

"Bye." Ben hung up the phone and then picked it up again, quickly dialing Debbie Novotny's phone number. As the phone on the opposite line rang, Ben thought, _Should I be more worried? But wouldn't it be something if Michael's with Debbie, or Emmett…perfectly safe? I don't want to overreact until I have to…_

"Hello?" Debbie's voice came over the phone, breaking off Ben's thoughts.

"Hi, Debbie? It's Ben."

"Hi Ben. Why are you calling me so early? Is something wrong?"

"Well…it's about Michael-"  
  
_"Oh my God, what is it? Put him on, I want to talk to him."_

Ben sighed deeply. "He can't come to the phone, Debbie. He's…he's not here. Is he there? Or _has _he been there? At all? Since last night?"

"No, no, I haven't seen him at all since…the day before yesterday, actually. What do you mean, he's not there? Where the fuck is he?"

"I…I don't know. We went out to Babylon last night and then…he disappeared. I don't know what happened, I just…" Tears began to burn in Ben's eyes. He wiped them away with the back of a clenched fist. "I don't know where he is. Ted's calling Brian and Emmett. Hopefully one of them knows where he is." There was a long pause. Ben could hear Debbie sniffling. "Don't worry, Debbie; we'll find him."

"Of course_ we'll find him. Fuck if we won't! Okay, I'll call Carl and have him get people to go out and look for Michael. And honey, I'll call you if I hear anything."_

"Same here," Ben replied, forcing a smile, more for his benefit than anything else. "Bye Deb."

"…bye, Ben." She said her goodbye so quietly that Ben had to strain to hear her.

Ben hung up the phone. He stood there in that same spot for a few seconds, simply staring at the phone. He picked up the phone again and dialed the number for his school. _I can't go to work with Michael…without knowing where Michael is._ Ben still did not feel comfortable saying that Michael was "missing." Something about saying it caused his stomach to do flip-flops.

After he had called his school and said that there was a "family emergency," he called Hunter's school and used the same excuse. They _were_ having a family emergency…a big one, to be perfectly honest.

But everything would be okay soon, wouldn't it? Everything would go back to the way it was. Right? Wouldn't it?

* * *

****

Glenn's Journal…

Michael's still asleep. He's been asleep ever since we made love. Again. Twice…can you believe it? Twice. I never thought that it would happen once, much less twice. But he won't say it. He won't say that he loves me. Why won't he say it? I already know that he does…but he has to say it. He has_ to._

At least, that's what Carol says. I was talking to her via e-mail this morning, after Michael and I made love (again!). I told her that Michael and I were together. That we had made love. I told her everything that had happened.

She was so happy for me. She must've used over six exclamation points per sentence. I think that I'll paper clip her email to this notebook so that I can read it again later:

Oh my God!!!!!! You finally did it???!!! I can't believe it!!!!! You've

been so scared to even talk to the guy for the last few months, but now

you actually made love to him???!!! I'm so happy for you, Glenn!!!!!

But you also said that he hasn't said that he loves you yet. Why shou-

n't he? You love him so much that he should be more than happy to

tell you how he feels. Do you understand me, Glenn? He _has _to tell

you how he feels. If he doesn't…well, I'll let you decide what

should happen if he doesn't…I hope that I can get out of this

goddamn place soon. I want to meet this guy that you've been

in love with since…forever. But Glenn, do you understand me?

He _has_ to tell you that he loves you. It's more than necessary…

Trust me.

-_Carol_

Yes, Carol. I think that I do understand you. But I…I can't…hurt him. Can I? I know that you think that I can. You've always believed in me; that's why I do trust you. And I do understand you. And I agree with you: why shouldn't he tell me that he loves me?

Why shouldn't he? I'll have to ask him once he wakes up.

That'll give me time to figure out what should happen if he doesn't say he loves me.

He has_ to tell me that he loves me._

He has _to._

To Be Continued...

* * *

Author's Note (continued...)-Umm...I don't think that I have anything else to say. Review if you read, etc, etc... 


	7. Chapter Six

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Many thanks go out to the reviewers of Chapter Five: "Anx," blondenbeautiful, "FW," "brian's gurl," SweetNightmares, AllyCat1980, Mr. Stripes, "Cress," and "Wanda."

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Pray that your loneliness  
may spur you into finding  
something to live for,  
great enough to die for.  
-Dag Hammarskjold

Depression: A psychoneurotic   
or psychotic disorder   
significant increase or decrease   
in appetite and time spent  
sleeping, feelings of dejection, and   
hopelessness, and sometimes   
suicidal tendencies.  
-Merriam-Webster Dictionary: "Depression"

If I could find you now   
things would get better.  
We could leave this town   
and run forever.   
Let your waves crash  
down on me and take me away.  
-Yellowcard "Ocean Avenue"

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

A dream? Is that all this was? Just one long, terribly detailed dream? Michael asked himself upon awakening the next day. His eyes, however, were still tightly shut, as though he was afraid to know if the previous night had been a dream or not.

It must have been…there's no way that any of that could have…happened. Right? RIGHT? The only response to his subconscious question was silence, and that was enough of a response to let him know that the last night had not been a dream. There were no sounds of movement in the kitchen and, the biggest response of all was that there was no Ben lying against him. No Ben shaking him, telling him to get up.

No, no, it's just early…that's all. It had_ to have been a dream. I can't still be here with him. No, a dream. Nothing more._

Even in spite of his attempts to convince himself that the past night had not been real, Michael felt his pulse begin to accelerate. His ears strained to hear any noise in the room: breathing, footsteps shuffling…anything at all that would tell him that he was not alone or safe. The silence was so dead and empty that Michael felt an echoing ringing in his ears.

Relaxing a bit now that he felt somewhat positive that Glenn was no longer in the room with him, Michael shifted around in the bed. A sharp pain shot up from his inner thigh as soon as he moved. He uttered a small sound that sounded vaguely like a strangled hiss, and he reached down to where the pain had come from.

His fingers traced what felt like a large gash in his leg. He brought his hand back up and looked at his fingers; no blood--the gash must have already dried up or was not as bad as it felt.

Realizing that he had opened his eyes, Michael looked around the room; although he had known that he was still lying in Glenn's room, seeing and realizing that he was still trapped with that sociopath sent Michael's heart plummet down.

The rolling chair that Glenn had been sitting on the previous night was still sitting next to the bed. What caught Michael's eye, however, was not that the chair was still there, but what was _on_ the chair. A small, blue and gray, leather-covered book with the word "_Journal_" printed on the outside cover in black lettering.

Instantly, Michael felt himself drawn to the small book. _Did he leave it out for me to read?_ Michael wondered, staring intently at the book. _I mean, he must've known that I was going to wake up, right? Besides, after what he did to _me_, this is really no big deal._

Nodding to himself in satisfaction, Michael (carefully) sat upright in the bed and reached over to the chair, picking up the journal. Casting one quick glance towards the closed (and probably locked) door, Michael set the book on his lap and let it fall open. It opened itself to a page somewhat near the back, where a folded piece of white printer paper had been paper clipped.

Michael inhaled deeply, his dark, bruised eyes looking back towards the door once again. Swallowing nervously, he pulled the folded piece of paper out from the paper clip and slowly began to unfold it; he did not want to make too much noise, just in case Glenn was right outside the door.

It was an e-mail from someone named Carol Spade. _He just got this e-mail today_, Michael thought, looking up at the date that was printed on the very top of the paper. _I wonder why he kept it…_

As Michael began to read the e-mail message, his heart rate instantly picked up speed again. _Oh my fucking God_, he thought, reading a few lines of the message over and over again:

He has to tell you how he feels. If he doesn't…

I'll let you decide what should happen if he doesn't…

He has to tell you that he loves you. It's more than necessary…

Trust me.

Shit, was the only word that came to his mind after reading those few lines over and over again. He shuddered and looked down at the journal again, looking at the last entry that Glenn had written:

"I'll have to ask him once he wakes up.

That'll give me time to figure out what should happen if he doesn't say he loves me.

He has_ to tell me that he loves me._

He has _to."_

Michael felt a lump rise into his throat. He swallowed the lump and refolded the piece of paper that the e-mail message had been printed on. Carefully, he re-paper clipped the message back to where it had been in the journal. He then closed the journal and set it back on the chair.

Michael's eyes remained on the journal. Becoming more and more curious by the second, he reached over and picked up the journal again. What harm could come in reading more of it? _No, Michael, don't ask yourself any questions. Remember what happened last night…_

Shaking away any other thoughts, Michael opened the journal up to the first page and began to read. The first entry was from a little over three month's prior:

I don't know why my doctor asked me to record everything I'm feeling. I mean, I'm just feeling a little…I don't know…down. I guess that's the best word. I don't know what it is, though, that's making me feel the way I do.  
Okay, so that's not completely true. There is something. And not a bad something, either. I met this guy. Well, not so much "met" him as "saw" him. I first saw him at this comic book store in town. And, interestingly enough, he lives right across from my apartment. I can even see him through the window! That's obviously not what's making me feel so down, of course. It's just…he has someone. A boyfriend. I suppose that's kind of good, knowing that he's gay like me, but…he has_ someone. And they seem so happy together…  
Anyway, Dr. Carmon said that if I feel "depressed" (that was the word he used) for another week, he's going to have to diagnose me for "Clinical Depression." Interestingly enough, my best friend from was diagnosed for depression as well a few years ago. But I'm not like her. She was completely obsessed with some guy. I'm not obsessed. Not really._

Michael scoffed. _"Not obsessed?" That's a laugh. _Rolling his eyes, he turned the page. The next entry was from a week after the first entry:

Well, it's official. I've been diagnosed for "Clinical Depression" and_ I've been given a new type of medication to try out. Supposedly, it's supposed to make me less…you know…_depressed. _Dr. Carmon also told me to try and eat more. Apparently, my body weight's dropped ten pounds in the last two weeks. I told him that I just haven't felt like eating, and his response was: "That's one of the symptoms of depression."   
God, doctors think they're so smart…if he knew _anything_, he'd know that I'm _not_ depressed. I'm just…sad. This guy that I've been watching (Michael's his name) seems so perfect for me. Why does he have to be taken?! Oh well, the good ones always are.  
And in spite of all of this, my boss said that if I'm late to work one more time, I'm going to be fired. I told him that I can't help it if I sleep in. He told me to use an alarm clock. I wanted so bad to say to him, _"I do use an alarm clock, asshole!" _But, of course, I didn't do anything but nod and apologize. I really couldn't care less if I get fired. I haven't really felt like working much lately. I haven't felt like doing much of anything, to be honest. Except look out the window at Michael. He's all I can think about. In fact, if I think about him too long, I get this strange feeling in my stomach. Could that be what love feels like?_

Michael frowned. Glenn was diagnosed for depression? _Well, _that _explains a lot_, Michael thought, but that feeling of complete pity and sorrow for Glenn began to return. Trying desperately to push away those feelings, Michael continued to read. The next entry was written ten days after the previous entry:

Michael Novotny. That's his name. I looked it up in the phone book. And he lives with Ben Bruckner--his boyfriend. Interesting, his boyfriend's name rhymes with my_ name. Could that be some kind of a sign?  
Oh, and I got fired from my job last week. Like I give a shit. Being at that job just kept me from being able to watch Michael. But, of course, I've still got to pay the rent, so I got a job at a dance club called Babylon. I'm a bartender. And Michael comes in with his friends all the time so I get to see him more than I thought I ever would. It's too bad that I can't really talk to him…the club is way too loud…and I have no idea what I would say, anyway.  
And I've been losing weight like hell…I'm already down to 185, and since I'm 6'3'', it's apparently not healthy for me. Or so my doctor says. _And_ I think that my meds aren't working very well anymore. I've been feeling more and more depressed each day. Maybe my body's becoming immune to them or something._

Michael sighed. _Should I feel so responsible for this? I mean, I didn't know…but maybe I could've…done something for him. _Sighing again, he looked back down at the journal and turned the page. _Oh my God_, he thought, grimacing at the sight of three dark-red drops that were imprinted on the page. _Is that..?_ He did not even want to finish the question, even in his own mind, but he could see that the red droplets were, indeed, dried blood. The next entry was written five days after the last entry, the lettering scribbled and slightly blotchy:

I…I WanT tO DIE! I DoN't wANT to LIVE anyMORE! NothiNg sEEmS wOrTH LivinG For! I FEEL SO ALONE! WHY DOESN'T HE LOVE ME???!!! no one will miss me anyway i will be alone forever and ever until someone finally comes up to get the rent and then theyll see that im gone gone gone…all i want is the one thing i cant have…michael i love you love you…but the pain will soon be gone all gone…all gone

Michael shuddered. Suicide? Glenn tried to commit…suicide? Because of _him_? And would he do it again if Michael was to get away? The lump returned to Michael's throat, who swallowed it immediately.

His heart jumped when he heard the doorknob jiggle from the outside. Quickly, Michael closed the journal and returned it to its spot on the rolling chair. He slid back under the covers and shut his eyes. He heard the door open and footsteps enter the room. "Michael?" Glenn said, and hearing his voice caused Michael to shudder violently. "Are you awake yet? It's almost noon…" The cheeriness in Glenn's voice reminded Michael slightly of his own mother. _God, _Michael thought, _if I ever get out of here, Ma will never let me leave the house again. _He suppressed a smile and did not move from where he was lying.

"Michael, you should get up. I made you lunch."

No fucking way, Glenn, Michael replied in his mind. His stomach, however, growled loudly. Michael hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon, so he was not surprised that he was hungry. And now that he was thinking about it, he felt even hungrier than he actually was.

He moaned inwardly. _This choice is probably going to come back and bite me, but I can't not eat, right?_ He opened his eyes and shifted around in the bed. As soon as his eyes met Glenn's, he saw a look of pure joy come over Glenn's face. "Morning, Michael," he said, cheerfully.

"Hmm." Michael did not want to converse with Glenn, he simply wanted a good meal. He sat upright in the bed and tried not to look Glenn in the eye, but found himself looking at Glenn's shirtless body. In the light, Michael was able to see how thin Glenn truly was; his ribs poked out from his pale chest and his pants hung loosely around his waist.

Michael looked around the room and saw that his clothes had been folded neatly and were now lying on the night stand in Glenn's room. Uncomfortable being naked in front of Glenn, Michael asked, "Could you get me my clothes?"

Glenn nodded. "Yeah, sure," he replied, crossing over to the night stand and picking up the pile of clothes. He brought them back to Michael and placed them in Michael's waiting hands. Michael pulled his boxers on under the covers and then, now that he was not completely nude, unearthed himself from the covers and stood up next to the bed. As he pulled on his pants and T-shirt, he made sure that he was facing away from Glenn, although he could feel Glenn's watching eyes on his back.

While he was dressing, Michael looked at his body for any wounds that looked like they might need attention of some kind. The only wound that looked somewhat serious was the gash in his leg--it must have been at least four inches long and was quite deep. Luckily, the blood had dried over and it looked like it was going to scab over in a few days. _Luckily? _he asked himself. _Not exactly "lucky."_

"Come on," Glenn said, once Michael had gotten completely dressed, "I've got breakfast ready." He reached his hand out for Michael to take. Michael looked at Glenn's outstretched hand and began to walk out of the room, trying to ignore Glenn's gesture.

As Michael walked by, however, Glenn took a hold of Michael's hand and led Michael out of the room and into the kitchen. The smell of fresh sausage hit Michael's nose almost instantly, and the smell caused Michael's stomach to growl again. _He may be insane, but it seems that he can cook. And I'll never be able to think of a way to get out of here if I don't eat._

Glenn let go of Michael's hand when they had reached the kitchen. "Sit right here," he instructed, patting the top of a stool that was placed next to the kitchen counter. Michael looked at Glenn's face; it seemed even paler in the natural sunlight that was coming through the window--

The window! Michael glanced tentatively towards the window. _"…just look out the window; you'll know which apartment is mine."_ That sentence from Glenn's letter read itself over and over in Michael's mind. _Ben, you'd better be fucking home,_ he thought, looking down at the plate of sausages and waffles that Glenn had put in front of him. _But what if Glenn sees me trying to contact Ben through the window?_

Oh, who cares if he does? It's worth it if you can get out of here. Michael cleared his throat. "Umm…Glenn?" he began, carefully. "Could you…get me…" His voice trailed off. _Oh, just say anything!_ "…an Advil? I think I drank too much last night."

Glenn nodded (a little too enthusiastically) and began to walk towards the bathroom. Michael threw one glance towards the apartment door. _It's locked,_ he thought. _And I can't unlock it without a key._ He stood up from the counter and walked swiftly towards the window. His eyes searched for his apartment. _Where is it, where_ is_ it?_

Finally, he found his and Ben's apartment window. He strained to see any movement coming from within the apartment…

There! Right there! He was certain that he saw someone moving inside his apartment. _Ben!_ he screamed in his head. Ben was pacing in front of the window. _Ben, damn it, look out the goddam window! _

For a moment, Michael thought that Ben had heard his thoughts; Ben turned slightly towards the window and…

A large hand grabbed onto Michael's shoulder and pulled him violently away from the window. Michael felt himself being spun around until he was looking into Glenn's bright, bright green eyes. Glenn's eyes were flashing with an anger that the other outbursts from the previous night could not even begin to match.

"_Why?!"_ Glenn shrieked, both of his hands squeezing into Michael's shoulders tightly. _"Why do you want him so much?! He can't love you the way you deserve!"_

Michael frowned. "That's not true. Ben loves me _more_ than I deserve. I should've told him about you…and about that fucking letter."

"Why don't you love me?!" Glenn screamed, as though he had not heard Michael respond. "_Why don't you love _me?!"

Michael's eyes widened as Glenn's hands began to slip from his shoulders up towards his neck. "Tell me you love me," Glenn said, the calmness in his voice even more terrifying than his screaming.

"No," Michael said, trying to sound as calm as Glenn, but failing terribly. "I don't love you. I love--"

"_No!"_ Glenn snapped, his long fingers curling around Michael's throat. "Tell me that you…love me."

"No," Michael said, trying to swallow, but finding that he could not.

Glenn's eyes glazed over and Michael was sure that Glenn was about to start bawling at that very minute. Glenn sniffed, his grip on Michael's throat loosening. "Why don't you love me?" he whispered, bringing his hands down and letting them hang loosely at his sides.

Michael stared at the tall, shaking man in front of him, completely at a loss for words. "Please," he began, softly. "Let me go."

Glenn lifted his head and looked into Michael's eyes. "I can't," he said. "If I let you go, you'll go back to _him_. And I can't watch you two be together. Not anymore. Not after all this time. I'll have no more reason to live…"

Michael thought about the last entry he had read in Glenn's journal. _He really _would_ kill himself if I left…God, should I feel so guilty about wanting to leave?_

"You can't leave." Glenn looked towards the window and then back at Michael. "You can't. You _won't_." He took a hold of Michael's hand again and began to pull Michael towards his bedroom again. Glenn's vice-like grip on Michael's hand as he pulled Michael along caused Michael to have no choice but to follow.

Glenn pushed Michael back into the bedroom and shut the door, locking it from the outside. Michael sat down on the bed, looking around at all of the pictures of himself that were stuck to the bedroom walls. _Should I feel so guilty about wanting to leave?_ he asked himself again, unsure of how to answer his question.

* * *

Ben was pacing in front of the phone in the living room. He had been pacing for God only knew how long. "Come _on_," he said, looking at the phone. He jumped slightly at the sound of a knock at his door. "Hold on!" he called, walking swiftly towards the front door. He opened the door, revealing Justin and, right behind him, Brian. 

"Ben, where was Michael today? He didn't show up for work," Justin said, sounding either irritated or worried.

"We still haven't found him," Ben replied, stepping backwards slightly to allow Justin and Brian to enter the apartment.

"_Still_?" Brian repeated, and Ben was surprised with what he saw in Brian's eyes: fear. "I thought you would've found him by now." Brian was obviously trying to sound somewhat calm, but Ben could still clearly see the fear in Brian's eyes for his best friend. "How the fuck did you lose him?"

Ben's eyes narrowed. "I didn't lose him, Brian. He just…" Ben sighed, rubbing at his temple. "I don't know what happened, all right? And it doesn't matter. All that matters is that we find him. I've already called Ted and Deb. Ted's going to call Emmett and, actually, you guys--"

"Well, we're lucky that we weren't home, then," Brian remarked, sitting down on the couch.

Ben rolled his eyes, and then continued. "And Deb's going to call Carl to get a search team going." He paused. "Are you sure that you guys didn't see him at Babylon last night?"

Justin nodded. "Positive."

"Although we didn't do much looking," Brian added, giving Justin a small smile.

"You know, Brian?" Ben snapped, looking down at Brian angrily. "I thought that you'd be a little more concerned about your best friend's missing, but it seems like you could really give a shit."

"What the fuck do _you_ know, Professor? If you knew anything, you'd know that Mikey is just fine, and all of this crap that you're doing to try and find him is unnecessary bullshit." Brian pulled out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply. "I'll bet you anything that little Mikey is just…out somewhere. He'll be back."

"Brian, if you're worried about him, I really don't mind if you show it--"

"I'm not worried, Professor," Brian interrupted, standing up. "Like I said, Mikey's just out somewhere. He'll be back." He looked over at Justin. "Let's go," he said, walking towards the door.

Justin nodded. "Okay." As soon as Brian had left the apartment, Justin turned to Ben and said, "I'll call you if we find anything."

That's what everyone's said, Ben thought, but smiled. "Thanks." Justin turned and followed Brian out of Michael and Ben's apartment.

Ben pushed the door closed and reached to turn the lock. He locked the door, then walked back over to the couch and sat back down on the couch. "God, Brian is in denial about this whole Michael thing. Why can't he just admit that he's scared for Michael? I know that _I_ am."

He laid down on his back on the couch and placed his arm over his eyes. This time yesterday, everything had seemed so normal. Except…Michael had seemed so stressed out about…something. And what was it that he had asked?

_"Have you ever felt that someone was watching you? That everywhere you go, someone can…see you?"_

That was what he had asked. He had told Ben that he had been getting those feelings quite a bit. Could that have anything to do with his disappearance?

The phone rang, breaking off all of Ben's thoughts. Ben leapt up from the couch and dashed across the apartment to the ringing phone. _Please be someone with information_, he prayed, picking the phone up from the receiver. "Hello?" he said, shakily.

_"Ben? This is Carl Horvath."_

"Oh, hi, Carl. Is this about Michael?"

_"Well, yes. It is. Ben, we need you to come down to the station…just to answer some questions about Michael before he disappeared."_

Ben ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Sure."

_"And could you come down now? The sooner you answer our questions, the sooner we can start looking for Michael."_

"Of course. I'll be right down."

_"That'd be great. And don't worry, Ben…we'll find Michael."_

Ben smiled in spite of himself. "Thank you, Carl."

_"Goodbye."_

"Bye." Ben placed the phone back in its cradle, feeling slightly disappointed. He had hoped that someone had some information about Michael's whereabouts, but all it turned out to be was Carl telling him that the police had not even begun to look for Michael yet.

Ben crossed the room and laid back down on the couch. _Michael, wherever you are, you'd better be okay. If something happens to you…I'll never be able to forgive myself. _Tears burned in his eyes and threatened to fall.

Ben looked out the window at the blue sky. Little did he know, however, that to simply find out where his partner was, all he needed to do was look out of the window at the adjacent apartment, where the tall, thin man was staring across the way back at him, hatred and jealousy in the tall man's eyes.

_To Be Continued..._

Author's Note (continued...)-I really have nothing more to say (as I usually don't at the end of each chapter...oh well), except REVIEW! Thanks to all who take the time to review.


	8. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Thanks go out to the following people who reviewed Chapter Six: blondenbeautiful, AllyCat1980, "FW," "Wanda," SweetNightmares, "brian's gurl," spalharks, "Mikou", and Rivulet027--who gave me a great quote as well as some good advice, which was to not have a second Author's Note.

And I can't remember what it's called whenever there's a call and no one is on the other line, so I'm going to call it a "dead call." Sorry if that last line confused you; it confused me, too. :-)

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

The scientific name for  
an animal that doesn't  
either run from or fight  
its enemies is "lunch."  
-Michael Friedman

The shifts of Fortune test  
the reliability of friends.  
-Cicero: "De Amicita"

You'll never know the fear  
of losing someone like you  
when you're someone like me.  
-Stephen King: "Misery"

Nothing in all the world-  
not even old age, sickness and death-  
is painful as one-sided love,  
which is a foreglimpse of the other three.  
-Edmund White "The Farewell Symphony"

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN

"Ben, thank you for coming in on such short notice," Carl Horvath said upon seeing Ben enter the station.

"That's okay, Carl. Anything that I can do to help this search get underway is fine with me," Ben replied, crossing over to where Carl was standing. "Can you answer a question for me?" he asked, as Carl turned around and led him towards one of the back rooms for questioning.

Carl stopped in his tracks and turned around to face Ben. "Of course. What is it?"

"Do you think…that if Michael really _is_ missing…that you'll be able to find him? And if he'll be…okay?" Ben said, unsure how accurately he had approached the question.

Carl sighed, and the pause that he took before responding made Ben even more nervous than he had been. "Do you want me to answer that honestly, or in a way that will make _you_ feel better?" he asked.

Ben was unsure if Carl was trying to lighten the mood, but he could not find any trace of humor in the detective's eyes. Thinking about Carl's question, Ben actually considered asking him to give him the version that would make him feel better, because he wanted…no, _needed_ some good news, but decided against it. "I want you to answer it honestly. I really want to know what might happen involving my partner."

Carl nodded, sighing again. "Well, you haven't received any ransom notes just yet, and neither has Deb, so we're assuming that the kidnapper doesn't want any money--"

"Carl, can you just...answer my question. Please?" Ben pleaded, not wanting to hear any of the reasons _why_ Michael was gone. He just wanted to know what could possibly happen when they _did_ find Michael. If they ever did. _No, don't think that way,_ Ben told himself, turning his attention back to Carl, who was shifting uncomfortably where he was standing. "Will you be able to find him, and will he be okay?"

Carl looked Ben in the eye, and Ben's stomach twisted into knots when he saw the lost look in Detective Horvath's eyes. "I really don't know," he said, finally. "But we haven't officially begun the search, which is why we should really get this questioning under way," he added, upon seeing Ben's expression slip into a look of complete misery.

Ben nodded, his eyes upon the floor. "Okay," he murmured. Carl continued to walk back to the back rooms of the station, Ben following closely behind him. Carl pulled a key out of his pocket and inserted it into the doorknob, unlocking the door and pushing it open. He lifted his hand slightly as a gesture for Ben to enter.

Ben entered the small room and sat down at the small table that was sitting in the center of the room. Detective Horvath sat down adjacent to him at the table and pulled a small notebook out of his back pocket, along with a small pencil. "Okay," Carl began, looking at the notebook intently, as though he was reading from a script. "When was the last time you saw Michael?"

Ben rubbed at the bridge of his nose, thinking over the detective's question. "It must've been almost eight thirty last night."

Carl nodded, scribbling down Ben's words verbatim. "And where the two of you?"

"Babylon. He said that he had to go to the bathroom. I asked if I should go with him; he didn't look too well--"

"Didn't look too well?" Carl repeated, looking up from the notebook. "How do you mean?"

"Well, he was acting really nervous and...panicky, I guess is the word." Ben paused, tapping the wooden table-top with his index finger. "I...I should have gone with him. What was I thinking?" He rested his elbow on the top of the table and placed his head in his hand.

"Ben, I know that this is hard for you. Believe me...Deb's freaking out, too, and I can only guess how your other friends are taking it, but we really need to concentrate on the rest of the questions. All right?" Ben nodded slowly, silently responding that he did understand Carl's request. "Okay. Now," Carl looked back down at the notebook. "You said that he was acting panicky. How so?"

"Well...when we were about to leave for Babylon, Michael was acting very rushed. Like he wanted to get to Babylon for...something. I know that it doesn't make much sense, but..." Ben shook his head. "I don't know..."

"Okay." Ben saw Carl scribble something out on the page he had been writing on before continuing. "What about before the two of you left? Was he acting that way then as well?"

Ben nodded. "Yes. He was. Actually, he mentioned something kind of...interesting to me." Carl straightened up, looking more intently at Ben, silently asking him to continue. "He asked me...if I had had any 'feelings,' he called them. That if I had ever felt that someone was watching me everywhere I went...I said no, and he said that he had been having those kind of feelings lately. Over the past month and a half, actually."

"Really?" Carl looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully before writing something down in the notebook. Ben saw Carl mouth the words _Watched everywhere he went_ and _For the past month and a half_. "And had he mentioned these feelings before?"

Ben shook his head. "No. Never. That's what really bothered me; that he had been feeling this way for so long without mentioning it to me."

"Hmm." Detective Horvath cocked his eyebrow. "Tell me...have there been any strange happenings at your apartment? Anything that would cause Michael to feel this way?"

Ben opened his mouth to say no, but paused half way. He frowned, remembering himself saying something to Michael the previous day. _"Is it just me, or have we been getting a lot of those lately?"_ What had Michael been talking about? Slowly, the rest of the conversation came back to him: _"...actually, there was no one on the phone when I answered it."_ He looked up at Carl and nodded. "Yes. We've been getting a lot of calls with no one on the other end--"

"How many in the past two weeks, would you say?" Carl asked, scribbling in the notebook.

Ben sighed. "Umm...ten or eleven? Twelve at the most."

Detective Horvath looked up at Ben. "Twelve in the past two weeks? That's almost one per day..." He looked back down and scribbled the number _12_ in the notebook. "And what happened when _you_ answered one of these calls?"

"Well--" Ben paused, thinking back over the past few weeks, whenever there had been a dead call. _I must've answered at least _one _of them..._As hard as he tried to remember, Ben could not recall a time when _he _had answered a call where no one had been on the opposite end. _It had always been Michael. Every time,_ he thought upon realization. "I..." he began, answering Detective Horvath's question, "I...never did."

"Never did?" Carl repeated, frowning. "But you said that there was about one dead call per day--"

"I know," Ben said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "But I...never answered any of them."

Carl furrowed his eyebrows and Ben heard him mutter "Interesting" under his breath before scribbling down a few more words on the notepad. "And, moving forward, you said that the last place that you saw Michael was at Babylon?"

Ben nodded. "He went to the bathroom...I saw him go in." Ben rubbed at his eyes; they were burning furiously. "I don't know why I didn't go in after him. I thought about it, but..." He trailed off, shaking his head slowly. "I don't know why this happened...to _him_...and I was there, I should've helped him." He dropped his head slightly, his eyes burning with tears.

"...I'm sorry," Ben whispered, wiping away the tears. Detective Horvath was unsure if Ben was talking to him or Michael. In all the time that he had known Ben, Carl could not recall another time when he had seen him cry.

"Ben," Carl said, softly, "I know that this is really hard for you, but we only have a few more questions for you to answer..." Ben lifted his head, wiped away the remaining tears, and nodded. Carl smiled wanly at him before continuing. "Did Michael mention having any...enemies, or someone who would want to hurt him?"

Ben sniffed and shook his head. "No" was all he managed to get out before more tears returned to his eyes.

"Okay..." Detective Horvath flipped through the notebook, looking at the rest of the questions. "Well, based on what you've told me, the rest of these questions seem...irrelevant." He stood up from the table. "Thank you, Ben. I'll get a team down to Babylon to look for...anything at all." He rubbed his forehead absentmindedly. "I think that Michael's being missing is effecting me as well. I'm really stressed out by this."

Ben stood up from the table as well, running a hand through his blond hair. Carl clasped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Ben. Michael hasn't even been missing twenty-four hours yet. Who knows, he could just be out somewhere…maybe he had a little too much to drink last night."

"No, he didn't," Ben said, defensively. "He only had a little bit of a Cosmopolitan…that was right before he went to the bathroom."

Carl nodded. "Well, you should probably get down to the diner and tell Deb that the search is underway. She must've called me at least ten times since you called her with the news. And she was pretty...upset when I told her that we couldn't start looking until we talked to you, so it would probably be smart not to mention my name when you tell her." He gave Ben a faint smile before opening the door to the room.

"Thank you, Carl. And...call me if you find something. Anything, actually. Just so I know what's happening," Ben said, walking out of the small room.

"Of course," Detective Horvath replied, closing the door behind them and locking it. "And I think that we can safely rule out the possiblity of a gay bashing, since no one who's _that_ homophobic would go into Babylon. Unless Michael left Babylon without telling you..."

"No, I saw him go into the bathroom, and I was watching for him for about...I don't even know how long." Carl nodded in response. "Oh, and Carl...maybe I should give you my cell phone number. I don't know if I'll always be at home..."

Ben left the station after giving Carl his cell phone number. As he walked down the street towards the diner, he could only imagine what Hell was going to be unleashed when he entered the diner. _Deb's probably covered the walls with posters of Michael, with the words "Have You Seen Me?" underneath his picture. _

He chuckled softly. That was something that Debbie would do. And he loved her for that. Although her possessive nature could get rather overwhelming at times, but you could tell that she really loved and cared about Michael. No matter _what_ shit he got himself into.

Ben arrived at the diner, and, upon entering, he saw that Debbie had indeed put up a few posters of Michael on the doors and on the walls. There were not as many as he had assumed that there would be, but there were enough to know that Debbie had kept herself busy since she heard the news. _Michael, something tells me that you'd _better_ be missing, after what you're mother's done so far. She'd kill you if you were just...out somewhere,_ Ben thought, sitting down at the bar of the diner.

"Ben!" Debbie Novotny appeared on the opposite side of the counter so quickly that one would have thought she had been ducked underneath the counter, waiting for Ben to show up. "Has there been any word on Michael? Carl said that he had to talk to you before the searching actually starts." She rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "I don't understand why the fuck you can't just start looking...it isn't going to fucking hurt anyone..."

"Umm...he said that he was going to get a group to search Babylon, since that's the last place I saw Michael--"

"I don't understand!" Debbie interrupted, leaning against the counter. "How did Michael just...disappear?"

Ben frowned, inhaling deeply. "I really don't know, Debbie...but Carl said not to worry too much, he hasn't even been missing over twenty-four--"

"I don't give a rat's fucking ass what Carl said. If he had just started looking for Michael when I called him with the news, we'd be one step closer to finding him!"

"Deb," Ben began, calmly, "Carl is going to try as hard as he can to find Michael. He seemed just as worried about Michael as any of us."

"Well, he _should_ be worried! Michael is such a _nice_ boy!" Debbie's face contorted, and, for a moment, it looked as though she was going to break down and begin to sob right there in the middle of the diner. However, she simply shook her head and muttered under her breath, "He'd better goddamn find him."

Ben saw Debbie's eyes move towards the door. "Hi Ted. Emmett," she greeted, giving a sort of half-wave towards the entrance of the diner. Ben turned and saw Ted and Emmett walking towards him, the same far-off look upon each of their faces.

"Hello Debbie," Ted greeted, sitting down on a stool on one side of Ben. Ben silently greeted him with a small smile.

"Hey Deb," Emmett said, sitting down on the opposite side of Ben. Ben, in turn, greeted Emmett the same way he had Ted.

"So, Ben..." Ted began, obviously unsure whether to ask Ben about Michael, seeing as he had just entered the diner. "I'm just going to jump right in with this; has you gotten _any_ information about Michael?"

"Not much. I just came from the station; I was talking to Carl Horvath--well, answering some questions for him, anyway--and all that he told me was that he was going to get a search team started and not to worry too much, since Michael hasn't even been missing twenty-four hours."

"And I'm sure that you're tired of answering this, but...how did he disappear?" Emmett asked, a distraught look upon his face. "I mean, it's _Babylon_. If someone took Michael, then there must've been _someone_ around to see it happen."

Ben shrugged. "I really don't know," he admitted, crossing his arms on the tabletop.

"Well, I'll tell you one thing," Debbie said, putting her hands on her hips, "if someone _did_ take Michael, they'd better hope the cops get to them before I do, because I'll fucking kill them." With that, Debbie turned around and walked towards a table who was waiting for their order to be taken.

* * *

Michael was sitting on Glenn's bed, nursing his bruised arms. "I can't believe that I felt _sorry_ for that guy. What the hell was I thinking?"

He stood up from the bed and began to pace around the room. "God, I have to get out of here..." As he was pacing, something on the floor caught his eye. He walked over to the small, dark shape and kneeled down.

It was his cell phone. Michael reached down and picked it up, and he was slightly surprised when the cell phone turned out to be real, not a dream, not an illusion. It was _really there_.

With shaking fingers, he pressed the ON button and waited for the screen to light up. And waited. Shaking his head in disbelief, he pressed the ON button again and held it down. Again, the screen did not light up and the phone did not turn on.

"No, it couldn't have broken from the fall it took last night. No. No...goddamn little piece of shit, _turn on_," he said, trying to keep his voice soft.

Tears of anger and betrayal sprung to his eyes as his grip on the phone tightened. "Why me?" he murmured, unsure of exactly _who_ he was talking to. "Why me? Why, why, _why_?"

Letting out a small grunt of aggrivation, Michael let the phone drop to the floor once again, where it landed with a _smack_, and Michael almost felt like smiling when he saw the screen of the phone crack slightly.

He walked back over to the bed, collapsing on the mattress and lying on his side. It was all beginning to really sink in. Everything that had happened...it was all becoming so much clearer in his mind.

"I may never get out of here," he whispered. He heard the words as he said them, and the realization of that statement made him shudder. "I may be stuck here with _him_...forever."

He had never wanted to see Ben so badly. His heart was aching uncontrollably. All he wanted to do was go home and lie in Ben's arms. He didn't even care what happened to Glenn...as long as he got out of the apartment.

And he had seen Ben. Ben had been right there...he had been so close, _so_ close. And yet...he had never seemed so far away. He had almost seen Michael, too. If only Glenn had come out of the bathroom two seconds later. If only...

Michael curled up into a fetal position on the bed. If no one ever found him...he would have to be with Glenn every day. Every day, he would have to look into that pale face with those horrible green eyes. Every day, he would have to be raped and beaten. Every day, he would have to be asked that bone-chilling question, _"Why don't you love me?!"_

The realization of it all hit him with such a force that he was no longer able to control his emotions. He curled up tighter, burying his face in the pillow on Glenn's bed...

He wept.

_To Be Continued..._


	9. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Thanks to my reviewers, SweetNightmares, LizzieBear, "FW," "Wanda," "brian's gurl," blondenbeautiful, and Mr. Stripes.

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Where you used to be,  
there is a hole in the world,  
which I find myself constantly  
walking around in the daytime,  
and falling in at night.  
I miss you like hell.  
-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Anger is a killing thing:  
it kills the man who angers,  
for each rage leaves him less  
than he had been before–  
it takes something from him.  
-Louis D'Armour

Sorrow you can hold,  
however desolating,  
if nobody speaks to you.  
If they speak, you break down.  
-Bede Jarrett

Rest assured that when  
I start to make you nervous  
And I'm going to extremes  
Tomorrow I will change  
And today won't mean a thing.  
-Meredith Brooks "Bitch"

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

_He's crying. I know because I can hear his heart-wrenching sobs even through the door. Why would he crying?_

You know why.__

_No, I do not. I don't. If I knew why he was crying, I would go in there and hold him and tell him that everything is going to be all right._

It's because he misses his boyfriend.

_I frown. The voice that seems to be coming from somewhere deep inside my mind is telling me something that seems to be true. Michael _does_ miss his boyfriend. Ben. But why would he need Ben anymore? He has me, and that's all he'll ever need. I love him. And he loves me, even if he doesn't say it out loud._

_I know he really loves me._

_I look down at my watch. It is almost four o'clock in the afternoon. I walk towards the window--the same window that Michael had looked out of earlier. When he had tried to see Ben._

_Anger fills my mind and body. After all that I've done for him, after everything we've had, he still loves Ben..._

_I look back towards the door. A part of me wants to break through that door, run in, and beat him shitless. But the other part of me...the other part of me has never been so confused. I don't want to hurt Michael, but...if he would only love me! Because I know that he does._

_I know that he really, really loves me._

_But because he won't say it, I just can't help myself. I want him to hurt like I hurt when I ask him if he loves me and the response that he gives me is "No." Nothing hurts worse than that. No matter what anyone else says, nothing can give me more pain than the person I love more than anything saying "I don't love you."_

_I need help. Advice. I walk over to my computer and sit down. I move the mouse and the computer screen flickers from black to my background--a picture of Michael. Pausing, I gaze into his brown eyes and I feel a twisting pain in my stomach. Why doesn't he love me?_

_Tearing my eyes away from the background, I double-click on the icon for my instant-messaging service. I only hope that Carol's on right now. She spends most of the time on the computer--it's the only thing that keeps her from hurting herself._

_My "Buddy List" pops up, and I see Carol's name under the OFFLINE list. Wonderful, the ONE time that I really need her, she's not on. She probably sent another virus through the main-stream again..._

_I sign off, leaning back in my chair. I close my eyes and try to picture Carol in my mind. "What do I do?" I ask the imaginary-Carol. "He doesn't love me. Or, at the very least, he won't tell me that he does. He still loves Ben, and I...can't stand it that he still loves him."_

_There is no reply, and I open my eyes. Shaking my head, I look back down at my watch; only five minutes have passed since I last looked at my watch. _Shit,_ I think, _do I still have to go to work?

_I look towards the telephone, and contemplate calling my boss and telling him that I can't come in tonight, then decide against it. I just won't come in; who cares if I get fired? I have no need to go there anymore. I have the reason that I went to work every night here in my apartment._

_But why doesn't he love me? Because I know that he does, deep down. I can feel that he loves me._

_I _know_ he really loves me._

* * *

"Ben, sweetie, I hope that you aren't blaming yourself for what happened," Debbie Novotny said, looking across the counter at Ben. 

Ben looked at her, then down at the plate of food that she had just served him. Suddenly, he did not feel so hungry. "Ben?" Debbie said again, leaning over slightly in an attempt to get Ben to look her in the eye. "Ben, look at me." Ben moaned inwardly, but looked up at Debbie. "Do not," she said, pointing her index finger at him, "blame yourself for Michael's missing. Michael wouldn't blame you for this, and neither do I. I only blame the sick bastard who did this to him."

Ben nodded, although he had barely heard Debbie's words. He was focused on listening for his cell phone if it rang. He knew that Detective Horvath had probably not even organized a team to search Babylon yet, but he wasn't about to miss a call just because he was busy eating or listening to someone tell him not to blame himself.

Ben was trying not to blame himself, but, try as he might, he could not shake off the guilt that he had been in the same place as Michael when all of this had happened. And God only knew what was happening to Michael now.

What if--_Oh God, _Ben thought_, now the "what ifs" are starting_--Michael was hurt badly...or what if he was being beaten and tortured...or what if he was--_No, don't think it. Don't even think it, if you do_--

"Ben, are you all right?" Debbie asked, placing her hand on Ben's shoulder.

Ben looked up at her; up until she had begun talking to him, Ben had been almost positive that he would have been able to get through, at least, the afternoon without completely breaking down. But once she had begun talking to him, reminding him of what had happened, bringing on all of the "What ifs"...

What if Michael's_--no, don't think it, Ben,_ he told himself, but he could not stop that last dreaded "What if" from entering his mind. What if Michael is...dead? What if he's dead and his body is lying in some dumpster just like that kid that Debbie found...

Ben's whole body shook at that last thought. He could see Debbie going out to the dumpster, opening the lid, and seeing her son's body lying inside...

That did it. Ben hunched over, buried his face in his arms, and began to cry. Not the soft, quiet tears that he had spilled while he was with Carl; loud, shuddering sobs that caused everyone else in the diner to look over at him in curiosity and (for only a few people) annoyance.

Debbie looked around at all of the people who were staring at her son's boyfriend and thought about yelling at them all, but, for once, decided against it. She leaned in close to Ben's ear and whispered, "Honey, why would you like to go into the bathroom?"

Ben nodded, and for a moment, Debbie was reminded of Michael when he was much younger, whenever he would cry in a public place...she would always ask if Michael wanted to go into the bathroom until he was finished crying, and Michael would always nod in the same way that Ben had. She inhaled shakily, watching as Ben stood up from the bar and walked towards the bathroom of the diner.

Ben opened the door to the bathroom and went inside. He locked the door behind him, after checking that there was no one inside the restroom with him. He walked over to the paper towel dispenser and pulled out one of the brown paper towels.

As he began to wipe his eyes, he got a good look at himself in the mirror that was located over the sink. He noticed, with some confusion, that besides for slightly red eyes, he did not look any different. He had expected himself to look like hell, since that was exactly how he felt.

But seeing himself in the mirror, and witnessing how unchanged he looked, Ben felt compelled to begin weeping all over again. How could he look the same when he felt so different and after so much had happened?

Feelings of guilt and regret filled Ben's mind again. _Why did I stop looking for him so soon? Why didn't I go into the bathroom after him? _There were a million questions that were flying through his mind all at once, and the pain that he could not answer any of them caused Ben to burst into tears.

He reached towards the paper towel dispenser again and pulled out two more paper towels. He turned on the sink and wet the two paper towels then began to wipe his face. The cool water against his burning skin made him feel slightly better, but it did nothing more than fade the red that had begun to surround his eyes. It did not make everything right again.

He sighed, looking closely at his reflection in the mirror. The red had disappeared from around his eyes and all traces of his tears were gone. But there was still something haunting about the reflection; the fact that he could look so…unaffected.

_Is this what everyone else sees? _Ben asked himself. If someone had seen him passing by on the street, that person would not have thought that he had lost someone close to him. Ben did not want the sympathy of strangers, of course, but all he wanted was to look the way he felt: miserable.

Taking a deep breath, Ben threw the paper towels into the garbage can and unlocked the door to the restroom. He opened the door and walked back into the diner. Debbie was staring at him with a look of concern upon her face.

Ben walked swiftly towards the exit; he could not talk to Debbie when he was feeling this way. He knew that if he talked to her, or anyone, for that matter, he would break down again.

He pushed open the door to the diner and walked out onto the sidewalk. As he began to walk down the walkway towards his apartment building, he heard a faint rhythmic beeping coming from his pocket. He stopped in his tracks and reached eagerly into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone.

He pressed the ANSWER button and put the receiver to his ear. "Hello?" he said, breathlessly.

_"Ben? It's Carl Horvath--"_

"Carl?" Ben glanced at his watch. "That was…fast. Did you find something already?"

There was a slight pause and Ben thought that he heard Carl sigh. _"No. The team just got down here. But we need you to come down here. To tell us exactly where he went."_

Ben rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He was not confident that he could help the police with the search without having a repeat of what had just happened in the diner. Nonetheless, he agreed. "Sure, I'll be down there in a few minutes."

_"Alright."_ Ben heard a click as Carl hung up his phone. Ben hung up his own phone, and then stepped forward slightly to try and signal a cab.

A bright yellow cab stopped next to him, and Ben climbed wordlessly inside. The only words that he spoke were in a response, telling the cab driver where he wanted to be dropped off. Ben noticed that the driver, on the way to his destination, looked into the rear-view mirror back at him every so often, and Ben's first thoughts were that maybe,_ maybe, _he was looking more miserable than he had looked earlier.

The cab came to a stop, a few yards down from Babylon. Ben paid the driver and climbed out of the back seat of the cab. The driver drove off, and Ben stood in place, watching as the yellow cab drove down the street and out of sight. But he was not watching it. Not really...he was too focused on thinking about the upcoming event.

In a matter of seconds, Ben realized that he had been drifting off, immersed in thoughts about what he, Carl, and whoever else was going to be searching with him were going to find when they were inside of Babylon. He began to walk down the sidewalk, his hands deep inside his pants' pockets, towards the entrance of Babylon, where someone, Carl, he assumed, was standing.

Carl Horvath saw Ben approaching him and waved him over, hoping to get Ben to walk a bit faster. He knew that it was not exactly protocol to have Ben assisting in the search, but he had no idea how large Babylon truly was, and he did not want to waste any time by searching parts of the building were Michael had never even been.

"Ben," he greeted, once Ben had reached him. Ben simply looked at him in a silent response, and Carl did not try to push Ben to talk to him. _God, he looks like hell_, Carl thought, and had he said those words out loud, Ben probably would have smiled. "Come with me," he instructed, turning and entering Babylon.

Ben followed Detective Horvath through the entry doors into Babylon. It looked so much different when it was empty and there was no music playing. It was almost...eerie how different it looked. The only people who were inside were a few people--the search team, Ben assumed.

"Now," Carl began, turning to face Ben, "can you tell me _exactly_ where you and Michael went as soon as the two of you entered Babylon."

Ben removed his hands from his pockets and nodded. "Okay." He walked towards the bar and leaned against the approximate spot where he and Michael had been standing. "We went straight to the bar," he said, trying to recall every event, every _word_, that had taken place. "Michael ordered a Cosmo right off the bat." He paused, looking up at the ceiling as he thought. "Then he began to say something--I assumed that he was going to say that he wanted to go back home, but instead he said that he was going to go to the bathroom."

Ben turned and began to walk from the bar towards the bathrooms. _You should have gone with him--_

"I was watching him...he went directly to the bathrooms." Ben continued walking towards the restrooms, Carl following right behind him. Ben pushed the door to the bathroom open and walked inside. "After he didn't come back for ten, fifteen minutes, I went to check for him in here but...no one."

"Hmm." Carl clicked his teeth together. "This is a club, so wouldn't there have been...someone else in here?"

Ben shrugged. "Not necessarily; most people who come here want to dance. And if they don't, there's a room in the back for anything else..." His voice trailed off as he began to look around the restroom. A strange sense of déjà-vu swept over him.

"Hey." Ben looked over at Carl, who was eyeing something up high on the wall: a red exit sign above a door. "Did you notice if this door was open last night?"

Ben shook his head. "No...I didn't even notice it..."

Carl nodded. "I'll have to get someone on the team to check this for any prints. You know, ordinarily we wouldn't be looking at this as a missing person case just yet, but since I know Michael, and I know that he would _never _do anything like this on his own free will--"

"I understand. Thanks Carl," Ben said, smiling.

"And I'm sorry that we had to drag you down here, but...this place is pretty...big and we weren't sure exactly--"

Ben held up his hand. "No, I understand. And I don't mind. Just...find him, will you?" he asked, biting his lip to keep the tears from escaping.

"I'll sure as hell try," Carl replied. "Thanks Ben. You can go if you want."

Ben nodded, saying that he did want to go. Once he was out on the street, he looked around for a cab and, when he did not see one, he decided to walk back to his apartment instead.

_You should have gone with him, Ben._

_You should have gone with him._

* * *

Glenn had his ear pressed up against the door to his room, listening as Michael's sobs continued. He took a deep breath, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out a small copper key. He unlocked the door and pushed the door open. Once he had entered the room, he turned, closed the door, and then re-locked it, sliding the key back into his pocket.

He crossed the room to where the small, shaking figure was lying on his bed. He sat next to Michael and placed his hand on Michael's quivering shoulder. "M...Michael?" he whispered.

Michael's shaking paused and he looked over at Glenn. Glenn looked so peaceful again, and yet...he had never looked so terrifying. Something was wrong. "What?" he said, shortly.

"I know you're sad, but you've got to understand...you don't have to be upset anymore. I love-"

"I don't give a shit if you love me!" Michael snapped, sitting upright on the bed. "All right? And I don't give a shit if you're manic-depressive, and I don't give a shit if you're suicidal or insane or whatever the fuck you are! All I want is for you to let me the hell out of here. Let...me...go," he hissed, looking at Glenn with anger-filled eyes.

Glenn stared at Michael with wide eyes. "How...how did you know about...about..." Glenn quickly scanned the room, his eyes landing on the rolling chair with the small book lying on it: his journal. He turned back to Michael, his eyes, if possible, even wider. "You...you..."

"Yeah, I read your little fucking journal, you insane--" Michael's sentence was cut off as Glenn suddenly lunged at him. Glenn pinned Michael down underneath him, and, despite how thin Glenn was, Michael felt as though he was being slowly crushed.

"You...you..." Glenn stammered, gripping Michael's shoulders angrilly. "I...loved you." Michael's heart skipped a beat as he noticed Glenn's past tense use of the word _love_. "And you...betrayed me. Why...why..." He said that one word over and over again. "You love me," Glenn said, finally. "I know you really love me." His hands squeezed Michael's shoulders tightly.

"No," Michael said, trying to squirm out of Glenn's grip. "No...no."

"You...love me," Glenn said, viciously, his hands moving up from Michael's shoulders to Michael's face. "I know you love me," he said, leaning down and pressing his own mouth to Michael's.

Michael turned and twisted, hoping that he would somehow break out of Glenn's hold. Glenn finally pulled away, looking down at Michael. "Why don't you love me?" he whispered, looking into Michael's eyes.

Michael did not respond. He simply stared back into Glenn's eyes. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Michael broke the silence that had fallen over them with a question. "Will you let me go?" he asked, his voice so quiet that he wondered if Glenn would be able to hear him at all.

Glenn stared back at him, his green eyes glazing over. "No," he said, in a voice just as soft as Michael's had been. "I can't."

He climbed off of Michael and walked back towards the door. He pulled the small key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. "I can't let you go..." he said, looking back over at Michael, who was sitting on the bed. "You're my reason to live...and I don't want to let that go."

He walked out and closed the door behind him and locking it. "I know you really love me," he said though the door. "I know you love me."

_To Be Continued..._


	10. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Many thanks to my reviewers of Chapter Eight: blondenbeautiful, PrettyPetalz65 (who reviewed twice :D), LizzieBear, "FW," "Wanda," and "brian's gurl."

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

There is a great streak  
of violence in every human  
being. If it is not channeled  
and understood, it will break  
out in war or in madness.  
-Sam Peckinpah

The miserable have no other medicine  
But only hope.  
-William Shakespeare "Measure for Measure"

Just let me know  
When do you let me go  
I want to be free  
Can't you see  
Just let me go.  
-Pink "Let Me Go"

I'm so tired but I can't sleep  
Standin' on the edge of something  
much too deep. It's funny how we feel  
so much but we cannot say a word  
We are screaming inside, but we can't be heard  
-Sarah McLachlan "I Will Remember You"

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

How long had it been since Glenn had kidnapped him? A day? Two days? A week, maybe? Time was moving so unbelievably slow that Michael was unsure of how long he had been trapped.

He deeply hoped that he had been gone long enough so that someone would realize that he was missing, but something deep in his gut told him that he had not been gone too long. A day at the most.

Ever since he had yelled at Glenn, Michael was getting an odd mixture of feelings. He was proud of himself for finally getting the balls to tell Glenn off. Michael smiled. Brian would have been so impressed of how Michael had handled the situation. Had Brian been there with him and listening…

For the past few minutes, however, Michael's feeling of pride had been slowly deteriorating and being replaced with both confusion and, as much as he hated to admit it, concern. After Michael's sudden outburst, Glenn had once again left Michael alone, and Michael could actually sense Glenn's depression returning tenfold.

Michael did not know too much about manic-depressives, but he knew enough to understand that Glenn's depression was reaching a new high. There was now mainly silence coming from beyond the door, and, for a moment, Michael thought that maybe Glenn had left the apartment.

Michael walked/limped over to the locked door. He stared at the door forcefully, as though he would be able to see through it if he looked hard enough. He placed both of his hands upon the door and leaned against it, putting all of his weight on his arms and hands.

The gash in his leg was throbbing, and each step he had taken to get over to the door had sent a bolt of pain up his inner thigh. He looked down at his leg and his stomach instantly did a flip-flop when he saw a large red stripe of blood on his pants where the gash was. When Glenn had lunged at him just earlier, it must have re-opened the wound.

Michael reached down and gently ran his middle and forefinger across the bloodstain. The gash screamed at him in response to the contact. Even with _that_ small amount of contact, the pain from the cut on his leg hurt unbearably. Michael hissed through his teeth, lifting his hand and placing it on the door once again.

There was only a still, still silence from beyond the door. _Maybe he's _not _home. Maybe he went out,_ Michael thought, hopefully, although he knew that the chances of Glenn leaving him alone were slim to none.

_Well, maybe he would have trusted you to be alone if you hadn't been in such a goddamn rush to get out earlier,_ he scolded himself, but did not yell at himself too long. He knew that using every possible chance to get away was the intelligent thing to do.

He pressed his ear against the door, listening for movement. For a moment, Michael was almost positive that Glenn was no longer in the apartment, and then…

A heaving sob followed by pacing footsteps. A murmur: _"Why…why…he…love me…"_

Glenn was out there all right and, although a couple of his words had not reached Michael's ears, Michael automatically knew that what Glenn had said had been: _Why doesn't he love me? _Michael could hear Glenn continue to mumble. Narrowing his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows, Michael pressed his ear even closer to the door, straining to understand what Glenn was saying.

Silence filled his ears again when Glenn's indistinct mumbling paused. Michael frowned and pulled his face away from the door.

The silence was instantly broken when a loud noise came from the other side of the door. The sound made Michael think of when someone twists up a wet towel and then whips the towel against a wall. Or against another person. That was what the noise had sounded like; something striking someone's bare skin.

A sickening feeling overtook Michael's body. _Could Glenn be…hurting himself out there?_ he wondered. Wasn't that one of the symptoms of someone who was manic-depressive? Self-punishment?

Another sound filled Michael's ears and he immediately knew what the sound was: Glenn had punched himself. Even though Michael could not see what was happening, he was certain that that was what had happened.

Knowing and realizing what Glenn was doing to himself gave Michael a who new range of emotions to deal with. The part of him that had gone practically insane was telling him: _Good, let that fucking bastard beat himself shitless…then you'll be able to knock down the door and get the hell out of here!_

In contrast, the other part of him that had not yet gone mad was telling him: _Michael, what are you doing just _listening?_ Say something! Make him stop!_

Michael swallowed, listening to each side of him debate about what he should do. "God, I hate him," he whispered to himself, "but I can't just _let_ him to that to himself." Taking a deep breath, Michael lifted his hand and curled it into a fist. _I hope I'm making the right choice here._ He began to pound on the door with his fist. "Glenn!" he called, and his own voice sounded so foreign to him. "Glenn!"

Michael paused when he heard footsteps rapidly approaching. He took a few steps backwards when he heard Glenn pressing the key into the keyhole and then turning it.

The door opened and Glenn stepped cautiously inside, obviously suspicious of why Michael had called to him. "What is it, Michael?" he asked, his voice low. He was hunched over slightly, his eyes looking down at the floor as though he was ashamed to let Michael see what he had done to himself.

Michael stared at Glenn in wonder. _Did _I _do this_? he asked himself. Of course Michael knew that he had not physically beat up Glenn but, looking at the horrible mess of a man who was standing in front of him, Michael knew that he might as well have.

Glenn noticed that Michael was staring at him and immediately stood upright as though to block Michael's view of the door. Now that Glenn was no longer hunched over, Michael was able to get a good look at what his captor had done to himself.

Glenn's right cheek was a bright pink color and was already beginning to puff out. The right side of his forehead was also beginning to swell, and it looked as though he was going to have a large bruise there in a matter of days.

"What is it, Michael?" Glenn asked again, sounding saner than he ever had before.

"I…I--" Michael stammered. _Damn, I should've thought of something to say. _He sighed. _Well, might as well tell the truth. _"I…I heard what you were doing," he confessed. "And I wanted you to stop; you shouldn't be hurting yourself--"

"And just what the _fuck_ do you know, Michael?" Glenn snapped, all of the sanity that had been in his voice disappearing with one clean swipe. "You have _no _idea what I've been through since I first saw you." He slammed the door shut, the wind from the door's sudden movement causing all of the pictures on the wall to shiver and Michael thought that they would all simply fall off, even though none of them did.

"I've been on _two_ different medications in the past three months!" Glenn continued, his eyes burning fiercely into Michael's. "My psychiatrist thinks I'm completely crazy and probably thinks that I should be in the nuthouse!" He stood up even straighter and Michael could have sworn that Glenn somehow grew five more inches.

"I wanted to _die_! But you know that, don't you? You read my journal." Glenn's eyes flashed with a sudden hatred before returning to pure insanity. "I was all ready…I had my gun, loaded and everything, and then…" Glenn paused, his eyes unexpectedly glazing over, "I looked across the way and I saw you. Even after all of the time I had been watching you, this time seemed…different, somehow."

He paused, breathing in a shaky breath. "I don't know what it was. I remember that you were smiling…I remember that the most. I looked at you and then…I couldn't do it. I wanted to keep on living because…you were there. Don't you get it, Michael? I _need_ you with me! You're my _life_! You're all I've got. If you go…you'll either call the cops or get my put away, or you and Ben will move."

He shook his head sadly. "You're my life," he said again. "My reason for living. What's the point of living if I've got nothing to live for?" Tears flowed freely from his eyes. He reached up and lightly touched his swollen cheek. "I did _this_," he said, gesturing to his cheek and forehead, "to keep myself from hurting you…or anyone else."

Michael opened his mouth to say something along the lines of, _"You've already hurt me!"_ then decided against it. He merely closed his mouth and let Glenn continue.

"You made me so…_mad_ that I wanted to hurt you, _really_ hurt you, but another part of my mind told me not to. I got confused…so I hurt myself. I don't want to hurt you, Michael--" Glenn reached out and traced a line along Michael's bruised cheek, obviously unaware that _he _was the one who put the bruise there, "--I don't."

Michael opened his mouth again, struggling with a response. What exactly can someone say to _that_? "…okay," he said, finally.

Glenn's face darkened. "Okay?" he repeated. "It's okay? Me hurting myself and wanting to die…that's 'okay' with you?!" He took a few menacing steps towards Michael, who backed up and climbed onto the bed. Michael was now standing on top of Glenn's bed, his back pressed up against the wall.

Glenn took a few more steps, murder written clearly in his eyes. Glenn stopped dead in his tracks and then picked up the rolling chair that he had been sitting on the previous night. He lifted it up above his head and, for a moment, Michael was sure that Glenn was going to throw the chair at him. Instead, however, Glenn threw the chair across the room. It hit the ground, bounced awkwardly, and then hit the wall with a resounding _thud_.

Glenn stared at the chair as though he were in some sort of a trance. Michael was immediately reminded of when Glenn had flung that pencil across the room, and then Michael had tried to escape, only to discover that the door had been locked.

_But it's not locked now!_ he thought, excitedly. _It's not locked now, so get your ass over there and run like hell!_ Michael responded instantly, leaping off of the bed and sprinting towards the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Glenn look over at him, a look of horror spreading across his face.

Michael threw the door open and, although the pain in his leg was excruciating, ran across the apartment. He heard Glenn's footsteps coming from behind him…Glenn was running as well, and fast, by the sound of it.

The front door came into clear view. _Please be open, please be open_, Michael chanted in his mind. Glenn's running footsteps were growing nearer. _God, the son of a bitch runs fast for such a tall guy_, Michael thought, swallowing the spit that had collected in his mouth.

The door was so close…

Michael let out a loud grunt as Glenn tackled him from behind. He fell to the ground, Glenn landing on top of him. The wind was instantly knocked out of him. Michael breathed in long, greedy gasps, tears of anger springing to his eyes. "God damn it, _no!" _he yelled, squirming around underneath Glenn. "I'm going! Kill yourself if you want, I've got to get to my Ben!"

Glenn did not respond. He wrapped his long arms around Michael's waist and then got to his feet. He lifted Michael off of the ground and carried Michael, who was attempting to wriggle out of Glenn's grasp, towards the bathroom.

Tears were pouring down Michael's face. "N-No," he sobbed, helplessly. "D-Don't do this to m-m-me…"

Again, Glenn did not reply, but simply closed the door to the bathroom with his foot. He then opened the medicine cabinet with one hand, the opposite arm a death grip around Michael's small waist. He pulled out a small container from the medicine cabinet, using his teeth to pry off the child-proof lid.

Michael caught only a small glimpse of the label that was printed on the side of the container, and it was all he needed. _Somnulin. _It was probably the same drug that Glenn had used to put him to sleep while he was at Babylon.

Glenn took out one pill…and then two. He set the container on the sink, holding the two small pills in his hand. The hand that had been holding onto Michael's waist slipped up to the back of Michael's head, keeping Michael's head still. The hand that was holding the pills clasped itself over Michael's mouth, forcing the pills inside.

Michael tried his hardest to jerk his head away and spit the pills out, but Glenn reacted too quickly; Glenn's hand, the one that had been on the back of Michael's head, moved to the front of Michael's throat. Glenn lightly rubbed Michael's throat, in an attempt to help the pills go down.

Michael nearly gagged when one of the pills slipped down his throat, followed closely by the second pill. Satisfied that the pills had gone safely down, Glenn pulled away, leaning against the bathroom door, waiting…

Michael heaved, praying that the pills would come back up, but it was no use. They were down. He looked up into Glenn's eyes. Glenn looked back down at him. Glenn's eyes looked as though they were painted on. They were still, uncaring, lifeless.

Almost instantly, Michael began to feel drowsy. The bathroom began to darken around him. He placed his hand on the wall to keep himself from toppling over, his eyes still locked with Glenn's. Now it was Michael's turn to ask, "Why?" He murmured the word, looking sadly into Glenn's painted-on eyes. "Why?"

Glenn sighed, lifting his hand and caressing Michael's face tenderly. "Because I love you," he replied, as though everything was as simple as that.

Michael's vision continued to darken and his body swayed.

The last thing he saw was Glenn's face before the darkness overtook him again and he crashed to the floor.

The last thing he heard was a loud _smack_ as his wrist collided with the edge of the marble counter.

The last thing he felt was a shooting pain up his left arm.

The last thought that flashed through his mind was: _I love you, Ben…but I don't think that I'll ever see you again._

One last tear escaped from his eye before his slipped into a deep unconsciousness.

* * *

**_Glenn's Journal..._**

_I got mad. I couldn't help it. I hurt him, too. Bad, I think. But I think he'll be okay. I hope he will, at least. I don't even remember what happened…all I figured out is that I gave him a few pills of _Somnulin._ I don't know why…I think that he tried to leave again. And since I gave him _two_ pills I guess he _really_ wanted to leave. But he can't leave. He can't…I don't want to go back to being lonely and sad and depressed all the time._

_I'm sure that people will try and find him. They may not love him the way that _I_ do, but that doesn't mean that they won't try to take him away from me. They all want me to suffer. They want me to waste away until there's nothing left. Nothing but darkness. They want it. All of them. They all want me to die!!!_

_Michael's still lying in the bathroom. All I remember is seeing him fall down. The last thing I remember before seeing him fall is…him calling me into the bedroom. He was yelling my name…after that…I just blacked out. I was so, so _mad!_ Michael, I'm sorry, sorry, so, so, SO sorry…I just hope you're okay._

_I don't want to hurt him. I don't. I love him more than anything. But…I got mad. He hates me. I can _feel_ it. Hate. It's so obvious now…hate. Why? Why does he hate me? I've done so much for him. I've got a swollen cheek and bruised forehead to prove it._

_He doesn't appreciate what I've done for him. That's what _really_ makes me angry. That and the fact that he _hates_ me. He hates me. But I love him. Neither of us can win. But that's the way that life works, isn't it?_

_And people wonder why I wanted to die…_

* * *

Ben was walking down the street towards his apartment building. He had just finished answering Carl Horvath's questions down at Babylon. As he walked, he thought about calling Mel and Lindsey to fill the two of them in on what was happening. In his rush, Ben had completely forgotten about giving them a call. 

He made a mental note to call them as soon as he got back home, although something told him that Debbie had probably allready called them. She probably called everyone she knew the second she heard about her son's missing...and quite possibly a few people that she did not know, because she was just that persistant.

He reached his apartment building and looked up at the window to his and Michael's apartment. He took a quick step back. Did he…did he just see…something move?

A spring of hope flew into Ben's mind before he remembered: _Hunter stayed home from school…_

A look of despair clouded his face as he walked through the apartment building's front doors. He trudged up the stairs. There was nothing more disappointing than thinking, _Maybe he's home!_ and then having it all taken away. To him, at least.

He reached the door to the apartment and reached to pull out his key when he heard a voice come from behind the door. A voice that did not belong to either Michael or Hunter. He frowned, reaching for the doorknob. He turned and opened the door, taken slightly aback that the door was unlocked.

He entered the apartment and was immediately greeted with a large group of people in the living room, seven to be exact: Mel, Lindz, Ted, Emmett, Debbie, Justin, and Hunter.

After a moment of greeting and receiving hugs, Ben was able to ask the question that he was wondering the most: "How did you get in here?" His gaze flew towards Hunter, who shook his head and replied that he had been asleep.

"Brian let us in," Mel explained.

"Brian?" Ben glanced around the apartment. "Where--"

"Right here, Professor," Brian interrupted, appearing from Michael and Ben's bedroom. "Mikey said that I should only use my key in an emergency, so I assumed that this would be a perfect time to use it," he explained, sitting down on the couch.

Ben nodded. He was not going to say it out loud, but he was extremely glad that Brian now accepted Michael's disappearance as an "emergency." Or at least did no longer believe that Michael was simply "out somewhere."

"Ben, we're sorry that we barged in, but Hunter said that you would be getting back soon, and we just wanted to fill you in on what we're planning on doing," Lindsey said, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper.

"We're going to put this ad in the newspaper for tomorrow," she continued, handing the paper to Ben, who unfolded it. It turned out to be a "missing" poster, with Michael's picture and two phone numbers: their apartment's phone number and Debbie's home phone number.

"We all pitched in money to get it printed for tomorrow because, you know, it can cost a lot to get something printed these days," Emmett added.

Ben smiled, although the smile did not last long on his face. "I'm sorry that I wasn't here…I should've pitched in--"

"Oh Ben, don't be ridiculous!" Debbie said, shaking her head. "I didn't even want all of them to help pay for it, much less you. You've been through so much, sweetie."

Ben smiled again, and allowed Debbie to throw her arms around him in a tight embrace. "I know we'll find him," she whispered in his ear. "I just _know _it."

Ben did not reply, but in his mind he said, _"I hope so, Deb. I really do."_

* * *

Michael moaned, his hand flying instantly up to his temple. He had a hell of a headache. Actually, it felt more like a migraine than a headache. Or a really bad hangover. 

His eyelids fluttered open and he tried to push himself up into a sitting position. As soon as his put pressure on his left hand, a blinding pain exploded in his wrist. He held back a scream, looking down at his left hand. He grimaced, fighting off an urge to be sick. His left wrist was swollen to almost two times its natural size.

He lifted his left hand off of the ground, in hopes of relieving himself of the pain. However, the sudden release of pressure sent another wave of pain surging through his wrist. He yelped in agony and surprise, nursing his distended wrist gently.

He tried to go from the lying-down position that he was in to a sitting position using only his legs and back. After a few seconds of trying, Michael was able to force himself into a sitting-up position.

He sat in the silence of Glenn's bathroom for a long, long time. He was now completely unsure of the time, and now, with an obviously-broken wrist, escape was going to be damn near impossible.

Sitting in the stillness, Michael was able to feel every bruise and wound on his body. They were throbbing, every single one of them. His head was throbbing as well from the painful migraine. A pulse in his wrist thumped unnaturally, sending a short--but very noticeable--wave of pain with each thump.

_"I hope you're fucking mutilating yourself out there!"_ Michael wanted to shout, but found that he simply did not have the energy to do so. _God, help me,_ he prayed, trying his hardest not to look at his swollen wrist; just the _thought_ of it made him want to vomit. _It's a good thing that I'm in the bathroom, then_, he thought, and giggled softly.

How the hell did it happen, anyway? How did his wrist get so…injured? He remembered being dragged into the bathroom, then being force-fed those _Somnulin_ tablets, but…

His gaze drifted up to the marble counter and it all came back to him. _I hit it on the counter's edge,_ he thought with realization. _Why didn't I remember that?_ His gaze slipped back down to his wrist and he grimaced. _Maybe because I don't _want_ to remember it,_ he thought, closing his eyes.

_God, what were you thinking?_ he asked himself, realizing, but not really caring, that he had asked himself that same question quite a few times during his "stay" with Glenn. _Why didn't you just listen to that "insane" side of yourself and just let the guy beat the shit out of himself?_

He answered his own question almost instantly: _Because I don't want to be insane. I don't want to be like him._

Smiling, satisfied with his answer, Michael laid himself back down on the cool tile of the bathroom floor and closed his eyes again. It took him only a few seconds to slip into a peaceful and much-needed sleep.

* * *

**MISSING:  
**Name: Michael Charles Novotny  
Age: 33  
Hair Color: Black  
Eye Color: Brown  
Height: 5'8''  
Date Last Seen: 4/18/04  
If Found Please Call:  
555-2432 or 555-2915

* * *

_To Be Continued..._


	11. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Many thanks go out to my reviewers: blondenbeautiful, "Wanda," Mr. Stripes, PrettyPetalz65, RosaleenBan, and Nataku's Child. I love you all!

And to Mr. Stripes, who asked if I knew how many chapters this story was going to be, I'm estimating somewhere between 15 and 20 chapters, but no more than 20, unless I really get on a roll. Since I'm a senior now and have almost no "real" classes, mostly study halls, hopefully I'll get more chapters up soon...

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Waiting is painful. Forgetting  
is painful. But not knowing  
which to do is the worse kind  
of suffering.  
-Paulo Coelho

A misery is not to  
be measured from the  
nature of the evil,  
but from the temper  
of the sufferer.  
-Joseph Addison

Either you deal with  
what is the reality,  
or you can be sure  
that the reality is  
going to deal with you.  
-Alex Haley

You know somebody,  
and they cry for you.  
They stay awake at night  
and dream of you.  
I bet you never even know  
they do, but somebody's  
crying for you.  
-Anonymous

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

Something was wrong. Something was _definitely_ wrong. It was too quiet. Surely Glenn did not leave him alone, did he_? Did _he?

Michael tried to shake his head, as a silent response to himself that Glenn would never, _never_ leave him alone, but found that his head was too heavy to move. And it was so dark. His eyes were open, he could feel that they were open and could feel his eyelashes brushing the skin above and below his eyes with each blink.

The silence was killing him. It was too quiet. His ears were ringing, searching for a sound, _any _sound. But they found none. _Did Glenn leave?_ Michael asked himself. _Ha, yeah, that's what you asked yourself before...right before you got yourself drugged _again_. Remember that, Mikey?_

Yeah, he remembered. All too well, he remembered. But that did not mean that Glenn would not trust him even a _little_ bit, right?

_Wrong, _he answered himself right away. _He doesn't trust you, and I don't blame him. You've tried to escape quite a few times in the past day. Has it been a day yet? Probably...it's so dark that--_

He paused, erasing all thoughts and concentrating on the darkness that was surrounding him. A door closing. He had just heard a door close. At least, it sure _sounded _like a door closing. But maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. After being locked up with that manic-depressive psycho for about twenty-four hours, he wouldn't be surprised if he was going a little bit crazy.

He sighed, trying to roll himself over. He wanted desperately to stand up, stretch his back, and get the hell out somehow. "Somehow" being the operative word.

As soon as he shifted his weight onto the opposite side of his body, a shock of white hot pain shot up his arm. He stifled a cry of pain and tried to shift his weight again, in hopes of helping the pain go away.

The pain would not go away. It flew up and down his arm in violent bolts. His eyes began to water from the pain. He tried to make himself sit up, but the agony from the pain was too excruciating....

White hot pain. The darkness suddenly changed to a shade of deep crimson, and the pain would not go away...

White hot pain! He writhed in anguish, a beat pulsating through his arm with, what seemed like, every beat of his heart, every breath he took...

_RED!_ Tears of pain rolled down his face. _Help me...Ben, help...me...help!_

_HOT! _His eyes darted around fearfully. _Why can't I see anything? Why...why?_

_PAIN!!!!!_

Michael's eyes snapped open and he was met with the bottom of the counter that was in Glenn's bathroom. He rolled onto his back and lifted his hand. His wrist was swollen, if it was possible, even larger than it had been earlier.

He sat upright and ran the back of his right hand along his forehead, wiping away the perspiration that had gathered on his hairline. "Just a dr--nightmare," he muttered, exhaling loudly. He must have rolled onto his swollen wrist while he had been sleeping.

_But God_, he thought, reaching his right hand up to his face once again and wiping the moisture that had gathered in his eyes, _it was so...real. I've never felt anything like that..._

His heart was still racing. He took long, steady breaths, trying to calm himself down from the earlier scare. He took in the surroundings around him. Nothing much had changed except that it was now night; he could tell by looking out of the small rectangular window that was located just above the shower.

It was raining as well. He could hear the faint patting of raindrops on the glass of the window_. I've been with Glenn for over a day now_, Michael thought, sighing. _Joy_, he added to himself, sarcastically and rolling his eyes.

Michael pushed himself up into a standing position with his good hand and gently shifted his weight from one foot to the other, stretching his body out.

He stood where he was for a moment, doing nothing, thinking nothing, and then it dawned on him: he was hungry. _Very_ hungry, to be precise. He hadn't eaten for over a day and was already beginning to feel deprived of energy.

Michael glanced around the bathroom. There was nothing to eat...not that he had expected anything to be there. His gaze drifted to the sink, where a small plastic cup was sitting. With a slightly trembling hand, what he believed to be the result from either nerves or hunger, he picked up the cup and placed it underneath the sink faucet.

He twisted the knob that had a large, blue "C" imprinted on it and watched as the cool water began to fill up the cup. Seeing the water made his throat begin to burn--unless it had been burning all along, and he simply realized it just at that moment.

Trying to keep his hand from shaking too violently in fear that the water would spill out, Michael pressed the lip of the cup to his lips and let the water flow into his mouth and down his throat.

He sighed deeply. _Oh God,_ he thought, gulping the water steadily. Drinking water had never felt as good as it did just then. It felt as thought he had just drunken water for the first time in his life.

He finished the glass, licking the droplets of water from his lips. "Wow," he murmured, placing the cup back down on the counter.

Michael ignored the loud growling of his stomach by looking at the medicine cabinet that was placed above the sink. He opened the cabinet and removed the container labeled "TYLENOL." He popped open the top and let one small pill fall into the palm of his left hand.

His wrist screamed out in agony, telling Michael that it should not be moved. "I know, but I've got to take some pain relievers," he replied, quietly. He dry-swallowed the pill, and, as small at it was, the consuming of something made his stomach feel slightly better.

Now that his stomach had momentarily ceased in its demand for something to eat, Michael was able to get a good look of himself in the mirror. What he saw made him want to either start to cry or deny that it was himself that he was seeing in the reflection...

His hair was tossed and unkempt, and there was a definite trace of a five o'clock shadow appearing on his face. Not that anyone would notice the growing-in stubble; the bruises that were on his cheeks were so vivid that no one would ever notice the burgeoning facial hair.

He could see that there were some cuts and bruises on his neck and shoulders, but it was his face that he could not tear his eyes away from. Both of his eyes had bright purple shiners and the most terrifying part of it was that he could not remember when he got them. He could not even recall when Glenn had (accidentally or purposely...he was not sure which) punched him.

_Was I _that_ out of it?_ he asked himself, swallowing. As soon as he swallowed, the fiery burn returned to his throat. With a shaking hand, which was shaking even more violently, Michael poured himself another glass of water, not caring that the water was lukewarm or that some of the water spilled out of the glass and onto the floor.

He swallowed the water, letting it cool off his own personal hell that was inside of his throat. He swallowed it, fighting off the urge to look back into the mirror. One more glance at the reflection of himself and he would most certainly lose all of the water that he had just swallowed.

Michael jumped at the sound of a quiet knock on the bathroom door. "Michael?" Glenn asked, cautiously, and Michael heard the nervousness in Glenn's voice. "Are you awake?"

_I wish I wasn't_, Michael thought, but did not reply. He was better off if Glenn thought that he was asleep.

"Well, I just thought that you'd want to see this. I got it in today's paper--"

_Today's paper?_ Michael repeated in his mind. _It must be six in the morning already. It must really be raining hard, then, judging by how dark the sky is. _Michael threw another glance toward the window over Glenn's bathtub and looked at the dark, dark sky.

"When you _do_ wake up...we need to talk. I don't think that we can stay here anymore. I-I...I'm afraid that I'll lose you, so...we may need to move somewhere else. My friend Carol has a vacant apartment in California, so we might move there. I'm going to e-mail her and ask her if it's all right."

_What the fuck are you talking about? Moving? I am not moving to California! No one'll _ever _find me! No...no! There's no way in hell that I'm moving!_ Michael's mind screamed in response, but he still did not say anything out loud.

"So...like I said, we'll talk about it when you wake up. Oh, and I want you to know that I appreciate you not leaving last night when I went to the store for some food. I know you really love me...and I still love you. You know that, right?"

_What do you mean, you went to the store last night? I-I had a chance to get out of here, and I was fucking _asleep?_ Aw shit!_ Michael curled his right hand into a fist, trying his hardest not to yell out in anger.

Glenn chuckled softly. "I don't know why I'm still talking to you...you're asleep. I guess that it's just nice to have someone to talk to for once. I mean, really _talk _to, you know?"

_Go away, go away, go away,_ Michael chanted in his head, praying that Glenn would hear his thoughts and leave him alone.

"Oh, and let me know when you wake up, so that I can make you something to eat. You barely touched your breakfast this morning, so you _must _be hungry." There was a pause and Michael thought that maybe Glenn had walked away... "Oh, and I'm going to slip something under the door, so that you can read it when you wake up."

There was another pause, and Michael saw a small, gray, cut-out piece of paper appear from the other side of the door. He looked at the small newspaper clipping for a moment, unmoving, until he heard Glenn's footsteps walking away from the door.

Michael kneeled down and picked up the small square clipping and looked at it. _Oh my God,_ he thought, his face breaking into the first true smile he had had in a while. His eyes flew from the small picture of his face to the word "MISSING" that was located on the top of the paper. _They know I'm missing, oh thank God, they know I'm missing!_ Michael thought, excitedly, looking at his phone number, and then down at his mother's phone number.

His eyes burned, and he knew that he was going to start crying again. He bit his lip, forcing the tears back inside. He smiled again. They knew. They knew!

His smile quickly faded when Glenn's words returned to his mind: _"I don't think that we can stay here anymore...we may need to move somewhere else."_

What if Glenn _did_ make him move? After all, all it would take was a few tablets of _Somnulin _and he would be out for a while. And he knew that no matter what it took, Glenn would find a way to get him to California, if his heart was truly set on it.

_But he said that he "loves" me,_ Michael thought, _so maybe I can convince him not to make us move..._

Michael took a deep breath, then lifted his right hand and, curling it into a fist, began to pound on the door. "Glenn?" he called, knowing that he was taking a big--no, strike that. _Huge_--risk by calling Glenn into the room with him. Especially a room so small.

_And with the_ Somnulin _in it,_ Michael's mind reminded him. Michael turned toward the medicine cabinet and, grimacing at the sight of his reflection, opened the door and took out the container labeled "Somnulin." He popped open the top and turned it upside down, letting the remaining _Somnulin _tablets spill into the sink and fall down the drain.

He closed the container and stuck it back into the cabinet. He had just closed the cabinet's door when Glenn knocked on the door. "Michael?" Glenn said, sounding less nervous than he had earlier. "You're awake?"

_No,_ Michael thought, sarcastically, with a roll of his eyes, but called out, "Yeah. Can in?"

"Okay," Glenn replied, a little bit too enthusiastically. Michael heard Glenn's keys tinkling from the other side of the door, and then the jiggling of the doorknob as Glenn unlocked the door. The door opened and Glenn stepped inside the bathroom.

Michael stared at Glenn's swollen cheek and black eye and instantly received a twinge of guilt. _Don't feel guilty, Michael,_ he told himself. _Look at what that son of a bitch did to _you. He glanced over at his reflection and immediately felt the guilt disappear.

"You were awake before, weren't you?" Glenn asked. "I knew that you were," he said, before Michael could even reply. "I could just...tell."

"Yeah. Yeah, I was awake, I was just...a little...out of it." His words were dripping with insincerity, but nevertheless, Glenn nodded, as though he understood. "So...I--"

"You heard what I said?" Glenn asked. Michael nodded in response. "I just wanted to get your input before I make any decisions."

_God, he talks like we're married. Luckily, that's not legal here, so I won't be forced to get married to him. Wow, I never thought I'd ever say that not being able to get married is "lucky," but--_Michael cut off his thoughts, forcing himself to stay focused on the matter at hand. "Okay...I don't think that we should move."

Glenn's eyebrows furrowed and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "Why? So that you can stay here? With _him_?" Glenn asked, his eyes narrowing.

"No. No, I just...think that, if you moved...people would get suspicious, and then...they'd take me away from you. So, don't you think that it'd be...safer if we stayed right here?" Michael asked, looking up at Glenn.

Glenn did not reply right away. He had a mixed look of thoughtfulness and worry upon his face. "I...I never thought...about that. Maybe...maybe it would be safer...until all of this begins to go away..." He paused, a small smile appearing over his face. "You're right. We won't leave. At least, not right now."

He reached out and placed his hand against Michael's face. Michael fought away an urge to pull away and forced a smile. "Okay," he said, softly, wanting desperately for Glenn to leave.

"I know you really love me. I know--"

"I think that I'm going to go back to sleep..." Michael interrupted, his eyes darting nervously around the room.

Glenn's face fell, but he nodded. "All right, but not here. I only let you sleep here last night because I was afraid to wake you up. You looked so on, you can sleep in my bed." Glenn reached out and took Michael by the left wrist.

Bolts of fiery pain shot through his body, causing Michael to double over and yell out in protest. "No! Glenn, God, _no_! My...my wrist...it's..."

Glenn looked at Michael with a faraway gaze, as though he did not hear a word that Michael was saying, nor notice the pain in Michael's eyes. "I know...you really love me," he said, the small smile imprinted on his face.

Everything began to turn red. The pain was so severe that Michael felt his body beginning to give out.

_RED!_

Glenn continued to pull Michael toward his bedroom, all the while muttering under his breath, "I know you love me...I know...you love me," the small smile in place on his face.

_HOT!_

He led Michael into the bedroom and finally released his grip on Michael's wrist. Michael stumbled over to the bed and laid down just before his legs gave out. He nursed his wrist gently, the pain still surging though his arm.

_PAIN!_

His vision began to clear again, and the pain began to lessen. He exhaled deeply, looking at his swollen wrist. The pain killers had worked for only a little while, and he desperately wanted a few more, but knew that Glenn would not hear him if he asked.

Michael stared at the closed door. Shaking his head in agony, he let himself fall into a lying-down position on the bed. He stared at the ceiling for a matter of minutes before...

_The letter!_ Michael shot upright, his heart racing in excitement. _Did I leave Glenn's letter in the apartment?! Maybe...maybe Ben'll find it and...and...find me! Did I leave it in the apartment?_

Michael paused, closing his eyes and trying to think about what he had done with the letter. _Oh...I-I left it in my pants' pocket._ Despair clouded his face and he fell back into a lying-down position. _Is there even a _chance _that Ben will look in there?_

He shook his head. _Yeah, if he washes them first, and then all he'll get is a whole bunch of tiny pieces of paper._

He moaned inwardly. _Good job, Mikey. You had a chance to save yourself and you leave it in your fucking pants' pocket. You're so pathetic, _Brian's voice told him, causing Michael to smile slightly.

Michael's stomach growled loudly, but he did not dare call in Glenn to get him some food. He remembered the look on Glenn's face as he had led Michael to the bedroom just before. Glenn's condition was getting worse...Michael could tell. And the worse Glenn got, the more danger Michael was in.

_Someone better find me soon, _Michael thought, looking up at the ceiling. _In a couple of days, Glenn's condition'll get so bad that he might do something crazy if someone ever finds out about me being here._

Michael shuddered, but could not stop the what-ifs from entering his mind. _What if Glenn gets so bad that he kills whoever finds me, then me, and then himself? What if he just decides to kill the both of us, just because we'll be "together forever?" What if..._

_What if..._

_

* * *

_

"Brian?"

"What the fuck do you want, Sunshine?" Brian asked, not moving from where he was lying on the bed.

"You didn't sleep at all last night," Justin said, placing a hand on Brian's bare shoulder.

"And how would you know _that_?" Brian quipped, staring straight ahead at the opposite wall.

"Brian, I sleep right beside you...you wouldn't stop tossing and turning. How the hell was I supposed to sleep?" Justin asked, calmly.

Brian turned over to face Justin. "Well, you wouldn't be able to sleep, either, if it was _your_ best friend who was missing," he snapped, pushing himself so that he was sitting upright in the bed.

Justin cocked an eyebrow at Brian and sat up next to him. "Brian, _you_ were the one who was convinced that he was just 'out someplace.' Remember?"

"Well, maybe _now_ I think that it's more...serious than just that. I mean...I know Mikey. And this isn't Mikey." He groaned loudly, rubbing his forehead. "Mikey would never leave his precious professor alone like this." He grunted, shaking his head. "Besides, can't let Debbie have _all_ the fun worrying about him."

Justin nodded. "All right--"

"No, it's not fucking _all right_!" Brian snapped. "He's out there, God knows where, with God knows who, and there's no one to fucking help him because I'm not fucking there with him!" Brian turned his head away from Justin and stared at the opposite wall again. He breathed a heaving breath and Justin could tell that he was crying.

Brian Kinney was _crying_. Even thinking those words did not seem right. "Brian," Justin whispered.

"What?" Brian said, shortly, continuing to stare at the wall.

"You're...cryi--"

"Fuck off." A pause. "Hey Sunshine?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell Mikey."

_To Be Continued..._


	12. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Much love and thanks go out to my reviewers who were so kind as to review Chapter Ten: "FW," "brian's gurl," Mr. Stripes, Nataku's Child, blondenbeautiful, Sydney Alexis, and PrettyPetalz65. This chapter is not as long as a few of the other chapters, but I really wanted to get it uploaded. Please review!

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

If you want to love,  
love carefully, because  
one-sided love means  
total loss.  
-Anonymous

Insane people are always  
sure that they are fine.  
It is only the sane people  
who are willing to admit  
that they are crazy.  
-Nora Ephron

Cause I've been used  
Been abused  
I've been bruised  
I've been broken  
And I'm backed up against the wall  
But my will to survive can't be stolen  
And you can't make me fall.  
-Pennywise "Broken"

Hold on if you feel  
like letting go.  
Hold on it gets  
better than you know.  
-Good Charlotte "Hold On"

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Hunger.

Michael had been _incommunicado_ for over a day now and, so far, had only had a little bit of tap water to drink. He now was beginning to understand what the word "hungry" truly meant. And if he had to go another day without food, he would understand what the word "starving" truly meant. Well, begin to, anyway...

A sharp, blinding pain struck through his stomach with each breath that he took. It felt as though something piercingly sharp was stabbing him from the inside out.

Hunger pains.

Michael swallowed, and his stomach growled out at him in anger. "I know, I know," Michael muttered, pressing the three center fingers of his right hand into his abdomen in hopes of lessening the pain.

Every so often the pain would get so severe that he would have a sudden urge to try and ask Glenn for something, hell, _anything_, to eat, and, every time, he had to convince himself that being hungry was much safer than being alone in the same room with such an unstable man...especially one who was willing to do whatever it took to keep Michael with him.

A terrible a thought as it was, Michael knew that, after quite a few failed escape attempts, that the only way out of Glenn's apartment was if someone came.

But who would think to look _here_? None of his friends or family knew who Glenn was...Michael had not even known who he was until the previous day. Sure, he had seen Glenn around before, but...he had just been some bartender at Babylon, nothing more...and certainly nothing less.

Michael sighed loudly, looking up at the ceiling of Glenn's bedroom. _Looks like the only chance I've got of being rescued is if Ben finds that letter or if something just happens to drop by. Doesn't seem too promising._

He groaned and sat upright. His eyes drifted to the wall closest to him; the wall that held all of Glenn's pictures of him. In quite a few of the photos, he saw, Ben's face had been blackened out with a sharpie marker. He frowned. Seeing how much Glenn loathed Ben was truly chilling.

_God, he'd better not try and hurt Ben,_ Michael thought. _I'll fucking kill him, _he added, fully aware of how much like his mother he sounded.

He paused suddenly, feeling an urge to be ill, even in spite of being so hungry. Would _Glenn try and hurt Ben?_ he asked himself. _I mean, so far, he hasn't said anything about it, but...God only knows what's going on inside of him. He certainly hates Ben enough to want to hurt him._

He shuddered, and the spontaneous movement of his body sent another gut-wrenching throe of pain through his stomach. His stomach growled again. "I need something to eat," he murmured. "But I don't want Glenn to come in here. God, why can't anything be fucking _easy_?" He grunted, shifting his body around slightly.

His stomach groaned again, louder this time. He laid back down on his back and looked at his swollen wrist. The swelling seemed to have stopped, but his wrist was still much too sensitive to move. He lowered his hand and gently laid it down on the bed. He needed to wrap it, or ice it...it might even be infected. He grimaced. _That'd be _just _what I'd need._

Michael snapped his head towards the door at the sound of a key jingling outside of the door. His heart began to thump rapidly. He quickly sat upright on the bed and watched as the door to the bedroom unlocked and opened.

"Michael?" Glenn paused in the doorway, a look of contrite upon his face. "I...are you hungry?"

Michael stared at the lank figure standing in the doorway. Had he heard the question right? After twenty four hours of no nourishment whatsoever, Michael could not think of any words that he would ever hear (except, of course, for the blessed words of "You can go."). Michael nodded in reply, not having enough energy to actually say anything out loud.

"I thought you would be," Glenn said softly. "You haven't eaten a thing since you've been here."

Michael shrugged, as though he had not noticed that he had not eaten, but the continuous growling of his stomach said otherwise.

Glenn's eyes flew down to the floor for a moment before returning their gaze to Michael's eyes. "I...I have..." His voice became so low that Michael could no longer hear him.

"What?" Michael asked, leaning slightly towards him.

Glenn cleared his throat and stared Michael dead in the eye. "I have your breakfast already made for you if you want it," he said, clearly.

Michael chewed on his bottom lip for a second before replying. "Okay...thank you," he added in a murmur before climbing off of the bed and standing upright.

Michael began to walk towards the doorway when he noticed that Glenn was still standing in the doorway, staring. "Michael," Glenn began, his eyes locked on Michael's swollen wrist, "your...your wrist doesn't look very good. I can...I can help you with that...if you want..." He trailed off again, his gaze moving back down to the floor.

"I don't know. I mean...can I _please_ eat first?" he pleaded, as his stomach lurched, sending another hunger pang through his abdomen.

"Oh...yeah, of course." Glenn turned around and began to walk away from his bedroom towards the kitchen. Michael watched Glenn's receding back in silent confusion. He had never seen Glenn act so nervous around him. Maybe Glenn was beginning to realize what he had done...

Michael knew that hoping Glenn would realize what he had done was nothing more than wishful thinking, but wishful thinking was probably what was going to keep him sane.

Michael began to walk towards the kitchen. Glenn was watching his every movement, his eyes wide. Michael sat down at the kitchen counter, where a bowl of, what looked like, tomato basil soup.

Michael picked up the spoon that was lying to the right of the bowl and began to slurp up his soup greedily, his body hunched over the counter so that he would not lose even a drop. He did not feel as though he could waste any of the food that he received; who knew when the next meal would come?

By the time the bowl was empty, Michael felt as though he could not eat another bite, but, nevertheless, he downed his entire glass of water. He was beginning to love the feeling of being completely full.

"Done?" Glenn asked. He had been leaning against the window (the same window that Michael had looked out of the day before) all while Michael had been eating, as though to block Michael's view of his and Ben's apartment.

Michael nodded, licking his lips clean. "Mmm-hmm," he replied. All that he wanted to do now was to go back into the bedroom and be alone. And wait to be rescued.

Glenn silently crossed over to where Michael was sitting. He removed the bowl and spoon and placed them in his sink. He paused, looking down at Michael's tumid wrist. Reaching down into his pocket, he brought out a small container labeled "TYLENOL." He popped open the lid and let one small tablet fall into the palm of his hand.

He set the tablet down in front of Michael before turning and walking over to the freezer. He opened the door and leaned down, peering into the freezer. Michael suddenly had a vision of reaching down, picking the bowl out of the sink and hurling it at the back of Glenn's skull. He looked down at the bowl, then decided against trying to throw it at Glenn. _What if I miss?_ he asked himself. _Who knows what the hell he'd do if I threw it and missed_

Glenn stood upright and turned back around to face Michael. He crossed back over to where Michael was, and set an ice pack down next to the Tylenol tablet. "Will that be okay?" Glenn asked, sounding like a three year old who had just made his first Mother's Day breakfast.

"Yeah, that...that'll be fine," Michael replied. Glenn smiled shyly in response, filling up Michael's water glass with fresh water. Michael popped the pill into his mouth and took a sip of water to help the pill slide down his throat.

"Glenn, do you mind if I...go lie down?" Michael asked, slowly.

Glenn frowned. "Why?"

"Uhh, well, I...if I want the pain killers to work, I should, you know, rest," Michael explained, trying to remain calm. He could tell that Glenn was beginning to become less and less stable, and he was trying to make sure that he did not say anything to upset him.

Glenn nodded, although he looked even more distressed than he had before. "You know," he began, looking at Michael with his green, green eyes, "I talked--well, e-mailed--my friend Carol and she said that, when we have to, we can move into her old apartment." He smiled, looking away from Michael. "She's so happy that we're finally together. But..."

He paused, his smile fading. "...she doesn't understand why you won't say that you love me. But I do. I understand. You hate me." Glenn's green eyes glazed over and he inhaled deeply. "I know that you do...and I don't understand why...I've loved you for so long. I've given my life to you. I've done everything for you. And you _hate_ me."

Glenn looked down to the floor. "Go lie down. It's what you want, so it's what I want." When Michael did not get up from his seat, Glenn said, louder this time, "_Go_."

Michael stood up from the counter and, grabbing the ice pack, turned around and began to walk back towards the bedroom. As he walked past that one window, he threw a quick glance out towards his apartment, hoping to see a small glimpse of Ben.

Even though he had only looked out of the window for a split second, Michael's heart plummeted when he did not see Ben in the opposite window. That was all that he needed to keep his spirits up; just to see Ben.

Michael sat down on the bed and laid the ice pack on his left wrist. The pressure of the pack caused his wrist to hurt slightly, but the gelidness of it felt so good that Michael was willing to ignore the slight pain that came along with it.

It was just then that Michael noticed that the door to the bedroom had not yet been closed. He looked up at saw Glenn standing in the doorway again. Glenn's eyes were half closed and he had the overall appearance of someone who had just lost a few nights' sleep. His arms were crossed over his chest and he was leaning absentmindedly against the door frame. "Are...are you okay?" Glenn asked, his voice hitching slightly on the first word.

Michael stared at Glenn with a bewildered look upon his face. That question was quite possibly the last question Michael would have assumed that Glenn would ask. "Am I okay?" Michael repeated, to make sure that he had correctly understood Glenn's inquiry.

Glenn nodded slowly, his eyes still half closed, that same drugged look upon his face. "Are you?" he asked, his eyes finally looking up and meeting Michael's.

"How honestly do you want me to answer that?" Michael tried to ask the question as calmly as he possibly could, but, judging from Glenn's wide-eyed reaction, he knew that the question had come out rather curtly.

"I...I...Michael, what's wrong?" Glenn asked, his eyes now completely open--Michael could even see the white surrounding the outer edges of Glenn's eyes.

Michael frowned, setting his ice pack down on the pillow of Glenn's bed. He was not sure if it was the energy from the food he had just eaten, but Michael felt a strange blast of adrenaline surging through his body, and he could no longer restrain himself from saying exactly how he felt...

"What's wrong? What's _wrong_?" Michael snapped, standing up from the bed. "Do you have absolutely _no_ idea of what you've _done_?!"

"Michael, calm down...I just--"

"No, I won't! You're fucking _crazy_, Glenn! And maybe I am, too. But only because of all the shit that I've been through this past day! I mean, _look_ at me!" Michael reached up and lightly touched the bruise on his right eye. "Do you not, I don't know, _realize_ that you _kidnapped_ me?!"

"No, I didn't. I didn't. I saved you. I saved--"

"_Saved_ me?! Is that what you think happened? You _stalked_ me for...what, three months? You're fucking obsessed! You...you _taped_ me talking. You changed your _whole life_ just to...watch me! And you--" Michael gestured to the photos that were on Glenn's wall, "--took pictures of me! _Don't you get it?_ You're a fucking _stalker_!" Michael paused for a second, trying to catch his breath. "And you're right...what you said before...I _do_ hate you. I really, really do."

Glenn's eyes glazed over and he looked down to the ground. "Don't say that."

Michael took a deep breath, knowing that he had crossed a line. And a dangerous one at that. But, somehow, he could no longer stop himself. _Calm down, Michael_, he told himself. _Don't get too excited. You know how much strength he's got on you. Don't get too excited._ Michael shook his head, clearing his mind of the subconscious voice that was trying to reason with him. _Don't get too--_ "I hate you," Michael said again. He sucked in his breath when he realized that he had said those three words aloud.

Glenn looked up at him, tears streaking down his face. Suddenly, his face darkened and he stood completely upright. "You know," he began, his voice drenched in anger, "you don't know a goddamn thing, Michael." Glenn slammed the door shut. "But I said before that what you want, I want...so--"

Glenn walked swiftly across the room and jumped up onto his bed. He reached his hand up, took a hold of one of the taped-on photos, and, in one swift movement, ripped the picture off of the wall. "Is that what you want, Michael?!" he yelled, balling-up the photo and throwing it across the room. "_Is that what you fucking want?!_"

He then took a hold of another photo and ripped it off of the wall. Within a matter of mere seconds, the entire wall was clear, and crumpled pictures were scattered all over the floor. Michael, who had been watching the entire scene in shock, took a step back as Glenn stepped off of the bed onto the floor.

Glenn, however, did not charge at Michael, but rather stooped over and removed the black box from underneath his bed. He opened the top and turned the box over, letting the cassettes fall out onto the ground.

"Glenn, calm down--"

"Shut up, Michael," Glenn interrupted, abruptly. He reached deep into his pocket and pulled out a small box of matches. He pulled out one match and then reached down to pick up one small cassette.

"Glenn, no, I'm sorry, just--" Michael stammered, reaching out towards the match.

Glenn paid no attention to Michael's pleads; he lit the match and held the flame up to the underneath part of the cassette and lit the underlying tape. The tape instantly began to melt until one section broke into two separate parts. Glenn blew out the match, let it drop to the floor, then reached into the cassette and pulled out the long string of tape.

"_Is this what you fucking want?!_" Glenn screamed again, dropping the cassette, the string of tape gently fluttering to the ground behind it.

"Glenn, I'm sorry. Okay? Just calm down..." Michael watched as the tall man standing before him immediately crumpled into a sobbing heap. Glenn sat down on the bed, trying to stop the sobs from coming out.

Michael stared across the room at him, at a loss for words, and instantly felt a twinge of guilt. _Leave now!_ his inner voice told him. _The door's probably open and Glenn's crying too hard to notice if you leave!_

Michael sighed. _Yeah, but what about the front door?_ he asked himself.

_Take that chance!_

Michael shook his head. _I can't. I mean, I probably _should_, but what if...what if the door _is_ open and I _do_ get out? What then? Glenn will probably commit suicide..._

_So what? Remember what he did to you--_

Michael shook his head again. _I can't,_ he thought again. _I can't leave him here all alone. I'll get out once someone finds me, but if I leave by myself...I'll have his life hanging over my head for the rest of my life._

Michael continued to stand where he was, fighting every urge he had to leave the room. Maybe he _was_ going crazy. After all, just a few minutes ago, he had hated Glenn more than he ever had. But now...he felt responsible for Glenn's life. _Why can't anything be easy?_ he asked himself.

After a few moments, Glenn finally stood up from the bed and crossed over to the door to the room. As he passed Michael by, Michael heard Glenn mumble something that might have been "Thank you."

Glenn left the room and closed the door behind him and, for the first time, Michael did not hear the door lock behind him.

Because Glenn knew.

Glenn knew that Michael would not leave on his own free will. Not anymore.

Glenn knew.

And knowing that Glenn knew was quite possibly more terrifying than watching Glenn destroy the room.

A _lot_ more terrifying.

_To Be Continued..._


	13. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Thanks and love go out to Mikou71, blondenbeautiful, PrettyPetalz65, Mr. Stripes, and "brian's gurl" for reviewing Chapter Eleven.

And to Mikou71, who asked about my use of "gelidness." Yeah, it's just another word for "coldness," but coldness didn't seem like the right word for the situation. And I wanted to actually _use_ one of those billions of vocabulary words that I got during high school. Thank God I'm graduating this year...umm, anyways...

* * *

Sometimes, when one  
person is missing,  
the whole world  
seems depopulated.  
-Lamartine

The logic of a madman is a  
sane man's confusion.  
-Joe R. Lansdale

And even as I wander  
I'm keeping you in sight  
You're a candle in the window  
on a cold, dark winter's night  
And I'm getting closer  
than I ever thought I might.  
-REO Speedwagon "Can't Fight This Feeling"

You are alone again  
You will begin to cry  
Hearing the silence breaking  
You breathe, alive  
But you are alone again.  
-Disturbed "Breathe"

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

_Ring, you piece of shit, ring!_ Ben silently screamed at the telephone. He had been sitting on the couch all night, staring at the telephone, which he had placed on the table in front of him. Every so often, during the night, he had drifted off for a moment, only to be awoken by the hope that the phone had been ringing.

It had been over a day since he had last seen Michael. Over twenty four hours. Any thoughts he had had that Michael was simply "out somewhere," as Brian had put it, had completely vanished, now replaced with fear and worry.

His daze drifted to the spot on the couch next to him, where he had placed the newspaper. He gazed into the eyes of Michael's picture for a full five minutes. What he wouldn't give to see those eyes again...

He looked up as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky. It had been pouring down rain since about two in the morning. Somewhat strange weather, but Ben assumed that it was simply the old "April showers, May flowers" rhyme coming into play.

The sound of thunder cracking rang through Ben's ears. Wherever Michael was, Ben hoped that he was, at the very least, inside and dry.

Ben groaned, laying his head against the back of the couch. None of it made sense; Michael's strange behavior, his disappearence...none of it seemed to...fit, if that was the correct word.

As he stared at the telephone, a strange feeling began to form inside of his stomach. He swallowed, hoping that the feeling would disappear.

_Damn nerves,_ he thought, beginning to dislike that strange sensation in his gut. But, somehow, he did not think that the feeling was nerves. It was more the feeling of...of...

Being watched.

_Seen._

Ben sat completely upright, looking around at the apartment, thinking that he might see Hunter peering at him from a doorway.

But no, Hunter was still sound asleep in his room. He had gone to bed just a few hours earlier; he had been trying to help Ben stay up in case the phone happened to ring, but because of his lack of sleep from the previous night, Hunter was only able to stay up half of the night.

Ben stood up from the couch and began to pace, hoping that maybe moving around a little bit would help that _feeling_ disappear. He paused for a moment. _Was this the feeling that Michael was talking about? That feeling of being watched?_

Ben looked across the way at the neighboring apartments. The rain was pouring down so heavily that he could only see the light being emitted from the windows. _Well, if I can't see _them_, they probably can't see me,_ Ben thought, turning away from the window.

But that _feeling_ remained with him. He sat back down on the couch, leaning back against the pillows. _How did Michael deal with that feeling for over a month? I feel like I'm about to go crazy...just from a few minutes..._

_Ring. _Ben's body jumped at the abrupt sound of the phone ringing. He reached towards the telephone and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" he said. His heart felt as though it was lodged in his throat.

Silence.

He frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. "Hello?" he said, his voice becoming louder.

Silence.

He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it for a moment. "Shit, must've gotten cut off," he mumbled, pressing the "END" button. He stared at the phone for a second. This was all too familiar to him...except that it was happening to _him_ this time.

He pressed the "ON" button and quickly pounded in 69. He pressed his ear to the receiver, listening to the other line ringing...

And ringing...

And ringing...

After about seven rings, Ben lowered the phone again and pressed "END." Something did not feel right...

But that _feeling_ was gone. He did no longer feel like he was being watched. He placed the phone back into the cradle and laid back against the couch pillows. Groaning inwardly, he placed his hands over his face and breathed in deeply.

_Ring_. Ben lowered his hands and stared at the ringing telephone, unsure of whether it would be wise to answer it or not. It rang again, and Ben slowly reached down and picked up the phone. He hit the "ON" button and put his ear against the receiver. "Hello?" he said carefully.

_"Hello? Ben, it's Carl Horvath?"_

"Carl? Did...did you just call a minute ago?" Ben asked, hopefully.

_"Did I...no, I didn't. Listen, Ben, I just wanted to inform you as to how far we've gotten so far in the investigation."_

Ben frowned. If it hadn't been Carl who had called, then... "Okay," he said, after a moment's silence.

_"We have a witness who saw someone leave Babylon shortly after Michael's disappearance."_

There was an awkward silence, and Ben was not sure whether Carl was finished or not. "I don't want to sound pessimistic, Carl, but...so what?"

_"He was using that exit from the bathroom. The one we were looking at yesterday,"_ Carl replied, matter-of-factly.

A look of confusion swept over Ben's features as he pondered Carl's statement. "Well, was it...was it Michael?"

A pause. _"No, this man was apparently much taller than Michael. And a hell of a lot skinnier, if you can believe that. According to the witness, at least."_

Carl was flustered; Ben could sense it in the detective's voice--the way Carl was rushing, his inability to completely explain...Michael probably did not know how much everyone needed him around...just to keep them all sensible.

"Okay. And Carl, thanks for all you're doing."

Ben heard Carl exhale before replying. _"Of course. And I saw the 'missing' ad in today's paper. Very good idea, Ben."_

"Actually, that was Mel and Lindz...I just hope that someone'll call with information."

_"If anyone does call, be sure to call _me_ and let me know. All right?"_

"All right. Thanks again, Carl. Bye."

_"Bye."_

Ben hung up the phone, feeling slightly discouraged that Detective Horvath had only found one witness--and although the information that the witness had provided_ did _seem helpful...but who knew if they were being completely honest?

On the other hand, Ben was feeling rather relieved. Not only because the investigation gone forward, but that there had actually been someone on the phone when he had answered. It was a horrible feeling to have, he knew that, but...there was something frightening about that earlier phone call...

Something frighteningly familiar...

* * *

**_  
Glenn's Journal..._**

_I blacked out again. Right after I had given Michael a pain killer and an ice pack--I think that he somehow hurt his wrist last night. I didn't ask how. But…I blacked out. I got mad again. Really mad. All of the pictures that I took of Michael are ruined. I can't remember if I did it, or if he did it. But it's okay, because now I have the real thing. I don't need pictures anymore._

_It's interesting, though. I've been awake for over thirty hours, and I'm not tired at all. In fact, I don't think that I've felt this good for a long time. But I'm hungry. Really hungry. It's good that I went out and bought some food while Michael was asleep earlier, or else I think that I'd starve. I've already eaten three meal's worth of food in less than an hour. I think it's a good sign. Maybe I'll gain some weight and not look so...thin._

_Anyway, after I left Michael alone, I felt really bad…guilty, maybe? I don't really know…but I did something stupid. I called Ben. I don't know why--maybe I wanted to call and tell him that Michael was safe, or maybe I wanted to tell him that Michael loves me now. Like I said, I don't remember. I don't remember a lot of stuff nowadays. Maybe I shouldn't have stopped taking my meds…_

_Could the police trace my phone call to Ben? I know that they're out looking for him…there's a "Missing" ad in today's paper…and last night, when I was out getting food from the store, I saw that Babylon had been temporarily closed. There was yellow police tape around the doors, cops everywhere--the whole deal. I drove as fast as I could to get away from there; I didn't want anyone questioning me. _

_But _could_ the police trace my call? I didn't say anything to him…I just hung up right after he answered. Maybe he won't make anything of it. Hopefully he won't. But who really knows? I mean, he did call that detective. Detective Horvath, I think. And that Detective Horvath knows Michael, so he might try _really_ hard to find him. But if he ever gets too close to finding him, Michael and I are going to leave and go to Carol's house in California. Everything will be so much easier there. No one will know us and we can actually go out in public together! I want to leave so badly, but Michael isn't ready yet. Plus, what he said earlier about our moving making everything more obvious..._

_And I said before that Michael loves me now. He does! I _know_ he does. I mean, after I blacked out, I remember sitting down on the bed a crying. I don't remember why…but Michael could've left, and he didn't! He didn't leave! Because he wants to stay with me! Because he _loves_ me! He doesn't have to say it. Like they say, actions speak louder than words._

_But that doesn't mean that I don't want him to say that he loves me. I want it more than anything. Maybe that's why I'm getting so mad so easily. __But I just wish that I would stop forgetting...and I'd take my pills, but I've run out...and I can't go see Dr. Carmon to get another prescription for Zoloft, because once I start talking to him, I can never stop! I'll tell him all about Michael and then I'll get in trouble...and Michael will be taken away from me. Besides, I don't really _need _my meds. Not anymore. I'm not depressed anymore._

_Not really..._

* * *

"So, tell me again what you saw." Carl Horvath was continuing his questioning of the only witness he had so far, and wanted to make certain that he had all of the facts correct. 

The witness rolled his eyes. He had been asked what he had seen over four times, and was becoming tired of telling the same story over and over. _This is what I get for passin' by that gay club,_ he thought, tugging on the sleeve of his New England Patriots jersey. _God, the guys at work are gonna have fun with this when they get a hold of it._

He sighed deeply, but said, "I was walkin' down the street towards my apartment, which has to be on the same block as that club. So, as I was walkin' down the street, I looked up, 'cause it looked like it was going to start pourin' down rain again. And as I look up, I see something comin' out of the alleyway. I stopped for a minute, 'cause I've never seen anything come out of that alleyway, and I've been walked down that same street almost every night since I moved here six months ago.

"So, I stopped, and this guy comes out of the alleyway. He must've been at least six foot two and he was fuckin' skinny--"

"Sir." Detective Horvath looked the witness in the eye and shook his head firmly.

"Sorry." The witness cleared his throat and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "He was skinny. _Too_ skinny, especially since he was so tall, you know?"

"You said that this man was carrying something?" Carl asked, looking at his notepad.

"Yeah. Looked like a bunch of blankets...or pillows, I don't know. It was pretty dark. All I could tell was that this guy was tall, skinny, and was carrying somethin'. He put the...whatever he was carrying into his car and drove off."

Carl nodded. "And you moved here...last October, you said?"

"Yeah, from Manhattan. My job got relocated here. My wife wasn't too happy about that, though. But what are you gonna do?"

"Right. So..." Carl began flipping through the pages of his notepad. "You said that you were walking home--"

"Yeah, the wife and I didn't want to waste money on a car. Especially since my work is so close to the apartment, you know?"

"Okay. One last question--" Carl reached down and picked a recent photograph of Michael up from the floor. "--Have you ever seen this man before? His name is Michael Novotny."

"Michael Novotny." The witness repeated the name, furrowing his eyebrows as he thought. "I don't...is he a queer?"

Carl cocked an eyebrow at the witness. "He is gay, yes--"

The witness shook his head. "No, then. I've definitely never met him before."

"I didn't ask if you've 'met' him. I asked if you've ever _seen_ him."

The witness stared at the photo of Michael for a few more seconds before replying. "No, I don't think I've ever seen him before."

Carl nodded. "Okay, thank you, sir." He stood up, and the witness, following suit, stood up as well. Carl extended his hand to shake, and the witness accepted the gesture, shaking the detective's hand. "We may need to call you back here if we get a suspect into custody."

"All right."

"I have all of your contact information so...you can expect a call from us in the near future."

The witness nodded, silently replying that he understood, before walking towards the exit of the interrogation room. He pulled open the door and exited the room, leaving Carl standing where he was.

As soon as the witness had disappeared from sight, one of Carl Horvath's fellow detectives, Detective Caputo, entered the interrogation room. "So, did you get anything useful out of him?" Caputo asked, glancing in the direction that the witness had left.

"Too soon to tell."

"You think he's telling the truth?"

Detective Horvath shrugged. "Who knows? He sure as hell wasn't the most gay-accepting man that _I've_ ever met." He shrugged again. "Who knows if he's telling the truth or not? We'll find out soon enough though. As soon as we find out where Michael is."

"You make it seem as though we've got enough information just to go out there and instantly know where he is," Caputo said, crossing his arms. "It's wishful thinking, Carl."

"Yeah. I know. But we'll find him." Carl picked up his notepad and Michael's photograph from the table and started in the direction of the door. "And we'd better, too. Michael's such a great kid. Not to mention that if we don't find him, Debbie Novotny's liable to kill me."

* * *

_  
That had to have been one of the scariest things I've ever seen_, Michael thought, looking around the room. _And he might've kept going, if I hadn't tried to stop him. _Michael picked up one of the crumpled up pictures and tried to smooth it out. 

He smiled. The picture had been of him and Ben sitting on the couch together. Of course, Ben's face had been blackened out, but Michael no longer cared. Just seeing the two of them together made him feel so much better that he could easily ignore the fact that his partner's face was now nonexistent.

His smile faded as a gut-wrenching twinge of guilt burrowed itself into his abdomen. _I should've left earlier when I had my chance. I miss Ben so much, and I should be with him right now…_

_But if I had left, Glenn probably would've been dead by now…_

_But I need to be with Ben…_

_But Glenn needs_ you…

Michael could hear the two different sides of guilt debating as to which was more important. He whimpered softly, sitting back down on the bed and picking up the ice pack.

As he laid the ice pack on his wrist, he tried to push each of the voices out of his mind. _Well, if I ever get another chance to leave, I'm taking it,_ he decided. He nodded his head for effect before lifting up his legs and crossing them underneath him.

As soon as he crossed his legs, he felt a sharp stinging sensation in his leg. He looked down and instantly remembered that there had been a gash there. And he had just re-opened it. The dried-up bloodstain that had been the leg of his pants was beginning to grow larger each time he re-opened the wound.

He uncrossed his legs and extended them out in front of him. His eyes gazed around the room for a moment before landing on the doorknob. Was it really unlocked?

Looking around the room as though someone might see him, Michael stood up and, step by step, made his way over to the door. He reached up and let the fingers of his left hand lightly touch the doorknob.

He immediately pulled away, thinking that he had heard Glenn moving on the other side of the door. Seconds passed before he lifted his hand again and took a hold of the doorknob. Slowly, he began to turn it...

It was unlocked. There was no doubt in his mind that it wasn't. He took his hand off of the doorknob and walked back to the bed. He sat down and began to ice his wrist again.

It was unlocked. All he needed was one good moment and he would be free. Michael's eyes fell to where the picture of him and a faceless Ben was lying. He smiled again. He would be happy again. He could live his life again.

He frowned. He would be able to live his life once he escaped, but Glenn would not. Glenn would take out that gun he had talked about earlier and...

_I'll never be able to leave. _Michael felt his face fall. _Because I'll never be able to decide. God, life has never been so fucking confusing..._

He laid on his back and looked up at the ceiling. _Someone _please_ find me. It's the only way that I'll get out of this. Someone has to find me. _He sighed deeply. _Like anyone ever will..._

"Michael?" Michael looked up and saw Glenn's face peering in from the doorway. "I was just wondering--" He paused, looking around at the room. "Where...where are my pictures?" he asked, looking at the blank wall.

Michael sat up on the bed, a confused expression on his face. "W--What?" he stammered, unsure of Glenn's question.

"My...my pictures...where are they why aren't they still on the walls did you take them down why Michael why?" he said, all of the words streaming together in one long, incoherent sentence.

"Glenn, you...you took them down...earlier. Remember?"

Glenn continued to stare at the blank wall until the hurt expression on his face disappeared, leaving in its place a calm, happier expression. "I was just wondering if there was anything else that you needed."

"I--I..." Michael began, confused by Glenn's odd behavior. Did he throw the wrong pills down the drain? No, the label had most certainly said _Somnulin_. Then why was Glenn acting so strange? "No, I'm fine. Really."

Glenn frowned. "Why, are you afraid that I'll try and poison you or something?" he snapped, his voice suddenly becoming louder.

_Maybe_, Michael thought, but shook his head. "No, of course not. I just--"

"Is my food not good enough for you?! Because _Ben _didn't make it?! Is that it?!" he shrieked, quickly crossing and uncrossing his arms in front of his chest, as though unsure of whether he wanted them crossed or not.

"Glenn, it's fine, just--" Michael stammered, holding his hands out in front of him in a gesture of retreat.

"Michael!" Glenn said, suddenly, looking up at the ceiling. "Where are my photos?" His voice was calm, his tone curious, as though he had never had the earlier outburst, and the sudden change in personality frightened Michael terribly.

"You...you took them down," Michael replied, slowly, careful not to say _I already told you. _He was not going to risk another impromptu verbal attack simply by accidently letting a few extra words slip out.

"Oh." Glenn smiled, as though beginning to remember taking the photos down. He then turned and began to walk towards the door. He paused at the doorway, turning his head slightly to look at Michael. "Michael," he began, "IloveyouIhopeyouknowthatandIknowthatwe'llbetogetherforever," he said, all of the words running ackwardly together so that Michael could only make out a few of the words that Glenn had said.

Smiling even wider, Glenn turned and walked out of the room, the door closing soundlessly behind him. Michael stared at the closed door in silent disarray, his mouth agape. What was going on with Glenn, he wondered. He would not have stopped taking his medicine...would he?

Michael shuddered. _If he_ has_ stopped taking his meds, then I'm in even deeper than I thought..._

_To Be Continued..._


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators. 

Author's Note-Much love and thanks go to the reviewers of Chapter Twelve: "Me," "Wanda," "Marcel," PrettyPetalz65, and blondenbeautiful. Sorry that this chapter took so long to get up. I had a minor case of the dreaded writer's block, but I think I've broken through it. :-) 

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

We must accept  
finite disappointment,  
but we must never  
lose infinite hope.  
-Martin Luther King

Depression is nourished  
by a lifetime of ungrieved  
and unforgiven hurts.  
-Penelope Sweet

And if you love the hateful ones,  
Who mistreat you constantly,  
The book of life shall bear your name,  
If you love your enemies.  
-Keith Green "The Promise Song"

I'm making a choice  
to be out of touch  
Leave me be  
he said he said he said,  
Leave me here in my  
stark, raving, sick, sad little world.  
-Incubus "Sick, Sad Little World"

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**_Glenn's Journal..._**

_They're all coming for him. I can hear them everywhere I go. They're all saying that I'm crazy. They all know that he's here and they want to take him away and watch me suffer. I hear their voices in my head. All of the time._

_Why can't they leave me alone like they used to? Why can't they just ignore me again? Why can't they stop caring again? Why can't I just be a shadow again? It was so good that way...except that I didn't have Michael. They all hate me now. Just like they used to._

_Before the shocks. Before the shocks that made everything go away. The shocks that made me feel better for a while. The shocks that made the voices go away._

_Why did they come back? What did I do? Why did they have to come back? Something bad always happens when they come..._

_I need to talk to someone. I need to talk to SOMEONE. Before something bad happens..._

* * *

Two days. He had been trapped with Glenn for two days. He knew it for a fact, because, just moments earlier, he had asked Glenn if he could go to the restroom and, on the way to the bathroom, he had caught a glimpse of the clock in Glenn's kitchen. It had been 8:52 PM. So, he had been trapped with Glenn for _over_ two days.  
  
Two days, forty eight hours...either way he looked at it, it did not seem like help was coming any faster than it had been. The entire situation was beginning to feel hopeless. 

_Stop thinking that way,_ he told himself. _Some people are missing for years after they get kidnapped. _You've_ been missing for two days...but _God,_ it feels like it's been forever._

To keep his spirits up, Michael tried to focus on the thought that his friends and family knew that he was missing. And that they had even put an ad in the newspaper. Maybe someone had seen Glenn kidnap him two nights ago. And then, if they saw the ad, they could call the police, or Ben, or his mother, and get him the hell out of here!

_Well, you've got it all planned out,_ he thought to himself, smiling faintly. _Now all you need is for someone to have seen you and Glenn at Babylon two nights ago._

He stood up from the bed and began pacing around the small space of Glenn's room. As he rethought his "plan" of how someone was going to find him, a question that he had never even thought about flew into his mind: _How did Glenn get me here? I mean, I'm sure that he didn't _carry_ me all the way here. Not without someone seeing him. So...how did he get me here?_

He frowned. The only way Glenn would have gotten him here unnoticed is if he had a car, and...Glenn was a bartender, for God's sake; how could he possibly afford a _car_?

All of the thoughts of how he had gotten there flew instantly out of Michael's mind at the sound of a knock at the bedroom door. Michael froze; maybe if he did not say anything, Glenn would not come in.

There was another knock at the door, louder this time. Again, Michael did not respond, silently praying that Glenn would leave him alone. However, Glenn continued to linger outside of the door, obviously waiting for Michael's reply.

After a moment, Michael saw the doorknob slowly turn and the door open a crack. Glenn's face appeared in the crack of the doorway. "Can I come in?" he asked, slowly, almost apprehensively.

"Umm--" Michael began, not liking the glazed look that was in Glenn's eye.

"Thank you," Glenn said, walking into the bedroom and lying down on his back on the bed before Michael could do so much as respond. Glenn placed his hands on his chest, lacing his fingers together. His eyes moved back to Michael's face and he asked, "Aren't you going to sit down?"

"N--No. I'll just stand," Michael replied, becoming more than a little bit concerned at Glenn's strange (more so than usual, anyway) behavior.

"Okay." Glenn inhaled deeply. "The reason that I came to see you, Dr. Carmon, is because of this...way that I've been feeling lately."

Michael stared, bemused, at the figure lying on the bed. _Did he just call me Dr. Carmon? _Michael asked himself. _Where have I heard that name before? _"Umm, Glenn, I'm not--"

"My family?" Glenn interrupted. "Well, I thought that I told you all this when I first met you, but...I grew up in San Francisco with my mother, Kendra, my father, Charles, and my baby sister, Elaine, who's four years younger than me. Well, _was_ four years younger than me."

Glenn paused for a second, shaking his head in forbearance. Michael opened his mouth to try and tell Glenn again that he was not Dr. Carmon, but closed his mouth when Glenn continued. "My mother, father, and baby sister all died in a plane crash when they were coming to visit me in college at UNC when I was nineteen years old.

"That's when these...feelings really began. At first it was just feeling sad, but then I started having trouble finishing things--homework, usually--and I got distracted really easily. I went to a lot of parties off-campus, where there was lots of drinking and drugs--the alcohol and drugs made me feel better, so I went to parties almost every night."

Michael frowned. _Is he just trying to make me feel sorry for him, or does he really think that he's talking to that Dr. Carmon guy? _Michael studied the serious yet blank expression on Glenn's face and silently decided that Glenn really did believe that he was talking to Dr. Carmon--whoever that was.

"So," Glenn continued, his eyes glued to the ceiling as though he was in a sort of trance, "I dropped out of college. Since my parents left all of their money and belongings to me, I didn't really have much to worry about, you know? So, after a while, the feelings began to go away.

"I got a job working here, in Pittsburgh, at an accounting office, working in one of those little cubicles. I don't know why I even _got_ a job; my parents had left me with so much money that I didn't really need to work. I mean, I have a great apartment, a car, everything...but I needed something to preoccupy my time."

Glenn chuckled softly. "My best friend Carol, who lives back in California, says that I need a boyfriend. And I think she's right. And just a few days ago, when I was leaving my gym, I met the most _perfect guy._ Well, not so much 'met' him as 'accidentally bumped into him,' but still, that split second when I saw him was the best moment of my life!"

Michael swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, knowing that Glenn was talking about him. His body shook slightly as a chill overtook him.

"And the most amazing part of it is," Glenn said, smiling, "he lives across the way from me. It was like fate, if you believe in that kind of thing. I thought, my life is so much better now...until I discovered something: he has a boyfriend. So, on the bright side, he's gay, but...he's taken. Who knows, maybe it won't work out and I can swoop in there and get the rebound."

He sighed deeply, a look of desire spreading across his wan features. "God, I would give _anything_ to be with him, to hold him, to--"

Michael shuddered at Glenn's words, all of the poisoned memories floating back into his mind.

Glenn paused, and Michael wondered if Glenn had noticed his shudder. "You're right. I'm getting too off topic," Glenn said, smiling apologetically. "I mean, this guy, Michael, his name is, is perfect. I've done everything to see him; I quit my cubicle job and took up another job at Babylon, a dance club that Michael and his friends go to, as a bartender...

"But the fact that I can't have him is slowly killing me. The pain that I feel every time I look across the way at Michael and his boyfriend is ten times worse than when I lost my family in that plane crash.

"It makes me want to die! I've become so upset that I've even planned out how I would do it: I'd walk over to his apartment, knock on the door, and then, when he opens the door, I'd say, 'I love you,' and then shoot myself."

Michael trembled again. He could perfectly imagine Glenn doing that exact plan, and the thought of it actually brought tears to Michael's eyes. He shut his eyes tightly, pulling the tears back inside. _Don't cry for him, Michael_, he scolded himself.

"And the plan always ends the same way," Glenn added, his eyes still staring up at the ceiling, the same blank, uncaring expression plastered across his face. "Michael looks my dead body and says, 'I love you, too.' It ends that way every time. And I haven't just thought about it, either. I've even considered doing it. Once, I got all the way to his door before coming to my senses."

There was a long pause as Glenn closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His eyes fluttered open after a moment and he glanced at his watch. "Oh, my time's up. Thanks for listening, Dr. Carmon. I'll see you next week." He stood up from the bed and walked, without another word, from the room.

Michael watched as Glenn left the room. _What the fuck?_ he asked himself, staring at Glenn through the doorway. Glenn was pacing across the floor in front of the kitchen, his eyes staring at the floor, his lips moving as he murmured something inaudible under his breath.

_What is he doing?_ Michael asked himself. Glenn was pacing so rapidly that it appeared that he had simply forgotten where he was. His hands fidgeted with each other nervously, as though he was anxious about something.

Suddenly, Glenn's head snapped up and he dashed across the apartment to the front door. His hands flew against the door with a loud _smack_ and then reached down to the doorknob. Glenn pulled at the locked door for a few seconds. "Go away!" he shrieked at the door. "Leave us alone! Why do you want to make me _miserable_?!"

He pulled away from the door, his now bright red hands continuing with their nervous fidgeting. He turned away from the door and, for a moment, his eyes met Michael's--they were glowing with such an emerald radiance that, under any other circumstance, they would have been beautiful--before looking away again.

Glenn's hands flew to his ears. "No!" he yelled, closing his eyes tightly. He ran towards the telephone that was sitting on the kitchen counter and, in one swift, clean movement, pulled the cord from the wall and knocked the phone from the counter to the tile floor of the kitchen. Plastic exploded everywhere, and the batteries from the phone hit the ground and rolled beneath the stove, never to be seen again.

"How do they all know?" Glenn asked, his eyes darting around the apartment insanely. "How? How did they know? Why would they do this to me? Why does everyone hate me why do they all want to make me crazy why do they all want to kill me why do they want to take everything away?"

Michael swallowed. _Don't come in here. Don't come back in here, you motherfucker,_ he thought, hoping that maybe his prayers would keep Glenn from coming back into the bedroom.

Instantly--so instantly, in fact, that Michael thought that maybe he had jinxed himself--Glenn sprinted into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. With trembling hands he pulled the small key from his pocket and locked the door.

He slipped the key back into his pocket and backed away from the door, his hands extended in a gesture of fear.

"Okay, we're safe now. Safe, completely safe," Glenn mumbled, lowering his hands.

_Speak for yourself,_ Michael thought, somewhat sarcastically, yet somewhat serious.

Glenn sat down on the bed, pressing the palm of his hand to his chest. He tried to steady his breath, inhaling deeply and slowly.

Glenn's body shook with a sudden tremble. He crossed his arms tightly. "A chill…" he said, softly, as though to explain.

Michael looked away, trying his hardest not to make eye contact with Glenn unless completely necessary. Through the mattress, however, he could feel Glenn's shaking beginning to increase.

Michael could feel Glenn's withered body shaking through the mattress. Somewhat unconsciously, he felt his eyes float to his right, where Glenn was sitting. It took almost all of his strength to not completely succumb to his emotions.

Glenn looked like a child, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as his body quaked with chills. Even in spite of how obviously cold he was, Glenn's forehead gleamed with the aftermath of sweat.

And his breathing--his breathing was the worst, Michael thought--was nothing more than dry, rasping gasps. A small whisper escaped through Glenn's lips: "I can't breathe."

His hand clutched at his chest as he tried to steady his breathing. Michael could literally see the goose bumps popping up on Glenn's sweat drenched arm.

"Cold…can't breathe…so cold," Glenn murmured, his words piercing Michael like a knife. _Don't feel guilty, Michael,_ he told himself. But he did not feel guilty…he felt _responsible_ for Glenn. And there was a difference. A _big_ difference. But, still, feeling the way that he did made Michael hate himself just a little bit more.

He exhaled a loud puff of breath before sliding over on the bed towards Glenn until he was sitting directly next to him. For a moment, Michael thought that Glenn had not noticed that he had moved...until Glenn gently laid his head on Michael's shoulder.

His head was so light, Michael noticed, and it was surprising. Biting his tongue so that he would not change his mind, he slipped one arm around Glenn's skeletal waist in hopes of passing his body heat on to Glenn.

Glenn, in reply, shifted slightly so that his body was pressing up closer to Michael's. Any earlier, Michael would have pulled away and told Glenn to leave him the fuck alone, but now he knew that Glenn was not thinking about sex. He was simply trying to keep warm.

_If my friends knew what I was doing right now, they'd think _I_ was the crazy one,_ Michael thought, a small hint of a smile flickering across his face.

Glenn wrapped his own arms around Michael's waist, pulling himself closer. His body continued to shake unnaturally, and Michael draped his other arm (carefully, as his wrist was still tender) around Glenn's narrow shoulders, enveloping Glenn's shivering body.

There, in the silence of his cell, he embraced his captor.

_To Be Continued..._


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Thanks to "FW," "Me again," PrettyPetalz65, Mr. Stripes, "faeriechozen" and MagickalStar135 for reviewing Chapter Thirteen. Thanks so much guys! Please read and review Chapter Fourteen!

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Shit Happens!  
-Bumper Sticker

The object in life is not  
to be on the side of the  
majority, but to escape  
finding oneself in the  
ranks of the insane.  
-Marcus Aurelius Antoninus

Pain and suffering are  
always inevitable for a  
large intelligence and a  
deep heart. The really  
great men must, I think,  
have great sadness on Earth.  
-Fyodor Dostoevsky

Desire I would kill for you  
Right or wrong I'd do anything  
True and pure the intensity  
Every time death is next to me.  
-Slayer "Desire"

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

He had slept. Somehow, with all of the chaos that had happened, Michael had been able to sleep. He awoke from a feeling of a prickling numbness in his right arm. His eyelids opened and the first thing that he saw was Glenn fast asleep, his right arm beneath Glenn's shoulders.

Once his eyes had adjusted, he slowly began to pull his arm out from underneath Glenn. After a moment of pulling, only his hand was trapped. Glenn let out a quiet snort and turned over on his side, allowing Michael to pull his hand away.

Michael rubbed vigorously at his arm, which had completely fallen asleep, attempting to get the blood flowing again. Once his arm had awoken, Michael inspected his wrist. Although it still looked swollen and was a sickeningly pink color, the pain had gone down greatly.

Michael sat upright, tossing a momentary glance towards Glenn. He looked so innocent when he was sleeping, Michael noticed. So normal. Why couldn't he look that way all of the time?

His eyes gazed across the room at the adjacent wall. The open door caught his eye. Temptation was beginning to overtake him. Michael glanced back towards Glenn. God, it would be so easy to just stand up and walk out of the room, quite possibly out of the apartment all together.

But there was some strange...force, he assumed it was, that was keeping him in the room, in Glenn's life. That force was "guilt," and it made Michael sick. He hated feeling guilty for wanting to leave. He hated being the one that Glenn had chosen to love. And he hated ever bumping into Glenn at the gym. Whenever the fuck_ that_ had been...

His eyes would not remove themselves from the open door. It seemed to grin at him, mocking him. _I'm so close, but you can't leave,_ it shouted out at him. _Because you want to keep Glenn alive, rather than Ben._

He shut his eyes, trying to block out the voice. _You know what Ben is probably doing right now, Michael? Sitting at home, worried sick for you, wondering if you're even alive. He wouldn't have to wonder if you would just care more about him that about that sick fuck that you're sitting next to._

Michael let his eyes flutter open again, feeling the tears that were attached to his eyelashes. It was true; he did seem to care more about Glenn's well-being than about Ben's...or his mother's...or Brian, or any of his friends.

And that was not fair. It was not fair to his friends. It was not fair to his family. And it was not fair to Ben. Michael stared at the door for another moment before gently standing up from the bed.

The springs of the mattress squeaked as soon as his weight was released and he froze, casting his gaze back to Glenn's sleeping form. Glenn did not awaken, and Michael pressed his hand to his chest, feeling his racing heart.

He took one step towards the door, glancing back towards Glenn. Never in his life could he remember being so frightened of making even a hint of noise. He continued towards the door, and each step he took sounded about ten times louder in his own head than it actually was.

Michael finally reached the door and, with one last glance towards Glenn, he left the bedroom. He turned around and gently closed the door behind him.

Once the door was closed and Glenn was out of sight, Michael let out a sigh of relief. _Oh my God, that was scary,_ he thought, taking deep, steady breaths.

He looked over towards the front door and began to walk towards it, looking over his shoulder at the bedroom door with every other step. Every so often he would hear what sounded like a door opening and spin around, his heart racing, only to be met with that closed, blank door.

When he finally reached the door, a sense of relief swept over him. He placed his hand on the doorknob and, with one last glance around the apartment, he turned the knob.

It was locked.

_Of course,_ Michael thought, letting his hand fall down from the door_. He's crazy, but he's not stupid._ He shook his head, wondering why he had even left the bedroom in the first place; deep down he had known perfectly well that the door would have been locked.

Disappointed and angry at himself, Michael began to make his way back to the bedroom when something hit him: _The window!_ he thought, excitedly. He looked at the window and, with one quick glance at the bedroom door, crossed over to the window facing his apartment.

The rain was pouring down; coming down so thick that Michael could barely even see the light that was being emitted from his apartment. His hands were pressed up against the glass, like a puppy at the pet store. _Help me_, written oh-too-clearly in its eyes. _Help me._

The light in his apartment disappeared and Michael leaned his head against the glass, tears of anger and hopelessness streaming down his face.

He wanted so badly to punch through the window and simply climb down to the street, but he knew that he would never get down to the street without slipping on the water and falling off the building. _Seems like a better ending than what I've got right now, though_, Michael thought, turning and leaning against the window.

He crossed his arms tightly, peering over towards the clock in the kitchen. _12:17 AM_ the numbers read. _Another day of this_, Michael thought, reaching up and wiping away the remains of the tears. _I don't know if I'll be able to live through it..._

He slid down the wall into a sitting position. Everything felt completely hopeless. It felt as though the entire world was against him. Tears formed in his eyes again, causing everything to become blurry. He reached up and quickly wiped them away.

Michael's eyes fluttered back to the kitchen clock. _12:19 AM_, it read. _Two minutes,_ Michael thought. _Two fucking minutes have passed by and it seems like an hour. God damn it!_

His eyes promptly moved away from the clock and settled on the counter; empty except for a notepad, a camera, and…

Michael's heart skipped a beat. _A phone?_ How could he have possibly missed that? He stood up and dashed over to the telephone. He reached out and grabbed it, overwhelmed at the fact that it was real and not some illusion. He turned and walked back over to the window, staring across the way at his apartment (or what he believed was his apartment; the rain was still coming down so heavily that he could barely see anything).

He pressed the ON button and, his fingers shaking so badly that he almost was unable to do it, dialed his home phone number.

It rang once and, almost instantaneously, Michael saw his apartment light up. It rang again and then, halfway through the third ring, Michael heard someone answer.

_"Hello?" _came the anxious voice of Ben.

Michael opened his mouth to reply, to say anything, but, hearing Ben's voice for the first time in days, he was unable to say anything at all. Tears of joy flowed freely from his eyes and his grip on the telephone tightened.

_"Hello?!" _Ben asked again.

Michael opened his mouth to reply again, but was unsure of what to say. "…B--" He was cut off by a still nothingness. Fear flew into his heart; he could not have _lost _Ben's call, could he have? "B--Ben, it's me! Ben!" He looked down at the phone in his hands. There had not been a power surge--the lights were still on and the clock's time was still correct--so what the hell had happened?

"Why?"

Michael turned his head around so quickly that he felt his neck pop from the abruptness of the movement. Glenn was standing behind him--dark circles under his eyes, his hair tousled, and his emerald eyes glazed over with an anger beyond Michael's comprehension--holding in his hand the receiver to the cordless phone. The connector, Michael saw, had been ripped out of the wall.

"Why did you," Glenn began, taking a few steps towards Michael, "leave me? To call _him_?" He slammed the receiver down on the counter top with such a force that Michael saw the bottom form a small, but noticeable, crack in the plastic.

"I--I just..." Michael said, trying to be tactful. "I just wanted him to know that…that I was safe. He's been looking for me, you know, so I just--"

"I know he's been looking for you!" Glenn shouted, lifting his hand and bringing it back down, knocking the cordless phone out of Michael's hand. It skittered across the floor and hit the wall, rocking back and forth on its flipside. "I'm the one who showed you the article in the paper! It's all I can _think_ about! They know that you're gone, and they're going to find you and take you away from me!"

"I--I…I'm sorry--" Michael's words were cut off when Glenn suddenly raised his hand again and brought it across Michael's face. A smoldering pain was beginning to form in his left cheek. He brought his own hand up and touched his face gently.

What had just happened? He had not even seen it coming. He knew that Glenn had been mad--okay, he had been more than mad; he had been _infuriated_--but usually there was some kind of _warning_. But now, knowing that Glenn would strike him without any given warning, Michael became even more frightened.

Michael looked into Glenn's rage-filled eyes and became even more terrified; there was no shame in Glenn eyes, as there had been before. There was nothing but anger, fury...and something in his gut told Michael that he should not say another word until Glenn had cooled down some.

"Don't say that you're _sorry_, Michael, because I know you're _not_," Glenn snapped. "You _want _to leave, don't think that I don't know that. I'm not _blind_, Michael! I can see how much you still want to be with _him_." Glenn gestured towards the window, towards Michael and Ben's apartment. "But…" He took a step towards Michael, looking down into Michael's brown eyes fiercely.. "You will _never _be with again. You're with _me_. And you'll either be with me, or you and I won't be around at _all_."

"Wh--what?" Michael asked, nervously, his hands fidgeting with each other fearfully.

Glenn turned and opened up a drawer next to the dishwasher. He removed a few hand towels before reaching into the back of the drawer and removing a small handgun.

Michael felt his chest clench when Glenn took out the small weapon. He stared at it, eyes wide, watching as Glenn slid his fingers up and down the barrel. "This is the gun that I thought about using on more than one occasion," he said, softly. "And I've been thinking about using it again. Only this time, with two bullets, not just one."

Michael shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Please, you…you don't…_won't_ have to. Just…please..."

Glenn chuckled, and the sound of his laughter frightened Michael more than the gun had. "Oh, Michael," Glenn said, shaking his head, "you're so funny. But you're right; maybe _won't _have to use it. But that's kind of up to you, don't you think?"

Michael hiccupped, feeling even more tears burning in his eyes. He stole one glance out of the window--the light in his apartment was out again--and nodded.

Glenn smiled, the fury in his eyes fading away. "I'm glad you feel that way," he said, placing the gun back into the drawer and re-covering it with the hand towels. He closed the drawer and turned back to Michael.

"I don't feel that I can trust you anymore, though." He walked past Michael towards the window, reached up, and pulled on the small cord that was attached to the window drapes. The drapes fell down over the window, blocking out all of the outside world. "And as soon as all of this begins to pass over _out there_," he added, gesturing outside, "we're going to go to California. I'm not sure how I'll get you there, but I'll find a way. I've got _connections_, Michael, do you understand that?"

Michael was not sure if Glenn indeed did have "connections," but he was not about to disagree with such an unstable person…especially since he had a weapon. "Yeah, I understand."

"Good." Glenn smiled. "I guess you saw that I locked the front door, huh?" he asked, looking at the door in question.

Michael looked down at his hands--they were shaking so badly, he saw, that they almost appeared to be twitching--and nodded. He knew that he was in no place to lie. Especially since Glenn knew fully well what he had done when he had been out here.

"Hmm." Glenn continued to stare at the front door. "It took me forever to convince the landlord that I should have a door that locks both ways, but I did it. I don't trust people," he added, as though in an afterthought.

Michael nodded, not knowing what else to do. He felt like he was going to be sick. "Can I…can I go back to bed? I'm kind of…tired," he said, not wanting to say "sick."

"Oh, yes…of course," Glenn said, monotonously. He lifted his hand and pointed to the bedroom. "Go. I'll be out here, in case you need anything." Michael watched as his hand gently touched _that_ drawer. "Anything at all," Glenn added, his eyes blank and staring.

"O--Okay," Michael stammered, feeling something hitching in his throat. Quickly, he turned and walked, rather quickly, back to the bedroom. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

His whole body felt numb. It felt so…unreal. Like he was having an out of body experience or something. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down. His eyes snapped open at the sound of something clicking. He sighed deeply; Glenn was locking the door again.

_You could've saved yourself, you know_, he scolded himself. _If you had just managed to get _one_ fucking word out, Ben could've had the police trace the call and you'd be out of here!_

He crossed over and sat down on the bed. Even though he had not managed to get any words out, hearing Ben's voice was the most rewarding thing that could have happened. He smiled. God, he would give anything to hear his voice again…

* * *

_Ring…_

Ben's eyes instantly snapped open and he leaped out of bed, flipping the light switch on. _It might be someone with information!_ his mind told him.

_Ring…_

He dashed out of the bedroom and grabbed the phone just as it rang that third time. "Hello?" he said, out of breath. He was not even going to complain that the person had called at midnight; he had not been able to sleep, anyway.

He frowned when there was no response. He looked out the window; the rain was coming down in buckets--maybe the person had gotten disconnected. _No, they just didn't hear me,_ he thought, hopefully.

"Hello?!" he said, more anxious this time. Again, the only response that he received was silence…until…

A sniffle? Had he heard a sniffle? Someone was most certainly there! He opened his mouth to say "hello" again, when a sound caught his ear: "…B--"

The word got cut off by a beeping noise, followed by a computerized, _"Your call has been temporarily disconnected. Please try your call again later."_

Frustrated, Ben hung up the phone. _It was probably someone with information, and they got cut off by the storm. Of course; that's how it works, isn't it?_

Feeling distraught, he slumped back into his bedroom and turned off the light. He laid down on his back on the bed. Even though it was well past midnight and his body could most certainly use the sleep, Ben could not find it in himself to even get close to falling asleep. There were too many thoughts inserting themselves into his mind.

Nevertheless, he closed his eyes and tried his hardest to relax his body. Almost involuntarily, he felt himself reaching over next to him, hoping to feel Michael's body there beside him. He traced the empty spot on the bed with his hand, feeling for any warmth--anything that would help him get through the night.

He sighed, listening to the rain pattering on the window. The sound was almost rhythmic, and it helped Ben to relax a bit more. He stared out of the window, watched the droplets of water as they slowly rolled down the glass.

Again he felt himself reaching towards the empty spot on the bed, wanting to find Michael there to embrace. But he knew that it was nothing more than wishful thinking. No, it was simply "wishing."

Ben rolled over onto his back again and stared up at the ceiling. He could not get his mind to stop and let him sleep. Every so often, when he thought that he would be able to fall asleep, his mind would think of something else that could have happened to Michael and, of course, it was impossible to get it out of his mind after _that_ happened.

Ben's head snapped up at the sound of someone opening the refrigerator. He caught a glimpse of Hunter removing a carton of milk and a box of cereal--Hunter's and Michael's cereal, Ben noted--before returning back into his bedroom.

_Hunter's missing him_, Ben thought, smiling sadly in the darkness. His smile quickly faded as he let his head fall back onto the pillow. _And so am I._

* * *

Michael's leg was shaking nervously. His hands were clenched and resting on his lap. He stared at the door with unmoving eyes, as though, at any given moment, Glenn was going to burst through the door and kill him. 

He swallowed, and his throat screamed out at him--it felt as though his throat was about the size of a quarter now. _Maybe I'm coming down with something_, Michael thought, then chuckled softly. _Wouldn't _that _be just perfect?_

Groaning, Michael slumped onto his back. His eyes were burning along with his throat. He needed to go back to sleep. Michael rolled his eyes. _Yeah, like I'll be able to._

He sighed deeply, then, despite his previous thought, let his eyes slide closed. The relief he felt when they were closed helped him to calm down a bit.

Seconds passed, then minutes...after about an hour of attempting to go to sleep, Michael opened his eyes again. _Maybe I should've kept one of those _Somnulin _tablets_, he thought. _Well, no sense in thinking about it now; they're gone._

He shivered; he suddenly felt very cold. He pulled the covers down on the bed and climbed beneath them. He pulled the covers up to his chin and closed his eyes. After only a few seconds, exhastion overtook him and he fell asleep.

And through the door, in the other room, sat Glenn, holding in his hand, the small--but all too fatal--handgun.

_To Be Continued..._


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Many, many thanks go out to PrettyPetalz65, Nataku's Child, and Mr. Stripes for reviewing Chapter Fourteen. Thanks much guys!

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

The greater the  
power, the more  
dangerous the abuse.  
-Edmund Burke

Mysteriously...the gray  
drizzle of horror induced  
by depression takes on the  
quality of physical pain.  
-William Styron

This fluid on my cheek  
It drains me, I get weak  
My heart is cold and bleak  
Black blood, black tears.  
-Eternal Tears of Sorrow "Black Tears"

Stuck to a chair  
Watchin' this story about me  
Everything goes by so fast  
Making my head spin  
-LIT "Miserable"

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**_Glenn's Journal…_**

_I don't want to hurt him. I swear to God I don't. But someone keeps telling me that I have to kill us both. To make our lives better. To keep us together forever. I don't know what to do anymore. It's like I can't control myself…like someone's controlling me, telling me what to do and how to think. I can't take it any longer._

_And the voices._

_The voices are the worst. They know everything about me and they taunt me about it. Always what I've done, or should have done, or SHOULD do. But it's always about death. Always. I know that death has been calling me for a while now. That was the whole reason for the therapy, after all_

_But, lately, these voices come back more than they used to. They tell me to do things I don't want to do. I really don't! But it's getting harder and harder to ignore them. Sometimes I think that, maybe, I should just do what they say, that if I do, they'll leave me alone. It's hard to keep myself from thinking that maybe it WOULD be better that way._

_But I don't want to hurt him. Or myself. I really don't want to. But they make me. They tell me that it will all be okay when it's done. I don't know what to believe anymore. Sometimes I think that death really is the best solution. I think it more often than not…_

_It's all too stressful and horrible to bear…just thinking about living like this for about sixty more years makes me want to just end it all. Make the pain go away._

_Life really sucks._

_I've never really been able to embrace the fact that I'm alive and everything around me is real. It's always been sort of a blur…like a dream. No, not a dream-- just one long, horrible, all-too-real nightmare. And the only way to wake up is to die. I want to wake up from this. I don't want to suffer through this anymore. _

_But I will…for him. We'll be gone from this city in a matter of weeks, anyway, so who cares? Maybe we'll be able to bail Carol out of that psychiatric hospital when we move there, too. That'd be so great, the three of us together--well, four, if you count Carol's boyfriend from the hospital. She'll probably make us get _him_ out as well…_

_But everything seems so wrong now, even with this plan I've got of moving to California. I feel sick…maybe I should call Dr. Carmon and ask him for some more medication…_

_No! I can't! Because then he'll ask me to come over and talk, since I've missed two of my therapy sessions this week and I'll end up telling him everything! I know I will! Psychiatrists have that affect on me! Once I start talking, I can't stop myself! Good for them, bad for me._

_No, I won't--can't--ask anyone for any help. I don't need any help. We'll be fine, I'll be fine. It'll all be okay…_

_But it doesn't feel like it will. I feel horrible--like something's eating me from the inside out. I can't get this pain in my stomach to go away. Maybe I'm having internal bleeding and I'll be dead in a matter of hours. God only knows what's happening to me…_

_I can't stop crying. It's like I'm having a nervous breakdown or something. No matter how hard I try, I can't get myself to stop crying! I keep telling myself, it'll be okay, he won't leave you, just a few more days and you can leave here forever...but it doesn't work. It just makes the pain in my stomach worse and keeps the tears coming._

_Life really, really sucks._

* * *

_Good job, Novotny_, Michael thought to himself. _You were on the phone with Ben and you didn't fucking say anything! You just blew the one goddamn chance you had to get yourself out of here!_

Michael covered his face with his hands, letting out a dry sob; he had run out of tears for the time being. _Maybe Ben will trace the call,_ he thought, trying to think optimistically. _I'm sure that since I've been missing for a few days now, if he got a dead call like that, he'd at least_ trace_ it. Oh, God, let him get the police to trace it!_

He swallowed, lowering his hands from his face. He could feel the bruises that were etched onto his face, each one pulsating with the same throbbing pain. "And there's no way I'm getting out on my own now," he murmured to himself. "Not when that bastard's got a fucking _gun_."

He looked up abruptly, as though he expected Glenn to be standing in the doorway, that horrible glazed look in his eye, that gun in his hand, saying _"I love you," _before firing the gun and ending everything.

But there was no one there, of course. Just that closed (and locked) door. He was beginning to hate that door even more than he hated Glenn. That door was always _there_, sneering at him in that taunting way: _"You'll never get out, Michael! Not with _me_ here! You'll be trapped here forever and ever and ever…all because of me!_

_Shut the fuck up_, Michael thought, his brown eyes fixed upon the bedroom door. Yes, he most certainly did hate that door nearly as much as he did Glenn. And Glenn had _kidnapped_ him, for God's sake!

He was jolted by the sudden knock on the door. Eyes wide, heart pounding, he lay down on the bed and pulled the covers up to his shoulders. He closed his eyes, thinking, _No, I'm asleep, don't come in, I'm asleep!_

Michael heard a click as Glenn unlocked the bedroom door, followed by the door opening. "Michael, do you want something to eat?" Glenn asked, so innocently that no one would have ever believed that he had a gun and, if that was not enough, actually wanted to use it.

Michael wrapped his arms around his torso, silently pleading, _No, please, I'm asleep, please leave…_

Footsteps slowly began to approach the bed. "Michael, do you want something to eat," Glenn asked again, his words sounding more like a command than a question. He may as well have said, _"You'd better say something or else I'm going to kill you!"_

Nonetheless, Michael did not move, subconsciously knowing that it would probably be safer to reply. _When was the last time that pretending to be asleep actually helped you?_ he asked himself, beginning to want to open his eyes, but found that he was still too afraid to move.

"Michael!" Glenn snapped, and Michael could almost feel Glenn's gaze upon him, watching him, _watching him…_

Now becoming more fearful of what Glenn might do if he did not respond, Michael prepared himself to reply. "Yes--"

The word came out more as a gasp than as an actual word. Glenn had seized Michael's shoulders and had pulled him into a sitting position with one quick tug.

Michael's eyes flew open and were instantly met with the shocking emerald of Glenn's eyes. "Answer! Me! When! I! Talk! To you!" Glenn shouted, inhaling deeply after each word he spoke. He pulled Michael out of the bed and into a standing position, his fingers piercing into the skin on Michael's shoulders.

Michael opened his mouth to apologize, but only managed to get out, "I'm--" before his body was thrown against the wall. A feeling of a hot, strange warmth formed in the back of his head as it made contact with the wall.

He collapsed back on the bed, coughing and gasping for breath in a feeble attempt to regulate his breathing. He rolled onto his back, momentarily disoriented. "I…I--" he whispered, his vision blurring for a moment, before returning back to normal.

Michael stared up at Glenn. Glenn's expression had not changed; the anger was still there. Oh yes, it was _all_ still there. "You're what?" Glenn demanded, in a furious rage. "Sorry? You're _sorry_?"

Michael winced, coughing up something that had the odd taste of copper. Not wishing to spit it out, Michael re-swallowed it. Grimacing, he nodded. The back of his head felt warm and damp. He wanted to reach up and see if he was bleeding, as he suspected he was, but did not allow himself to move.

Suddenly, another flash of hot pain flew into his face as Glenn lifted his hand and brought it across Michael's face.

As a result from the sudden strike, Michael brought his teeth down upon the skin on the inside of his mouth. Blood instantly began to fill his mouth. He grimaced, and, as he did not want to swallow the blood, spit the red mess onto the floor of Glenn's room.

Michael's eyes widened as he realized what he had just done. Hesitantly, almost fearfully, he looked up at Glenn.

Glenn was staring at the floor, his mouth open in a silent scream. "What…why did…" he mumbled, locking eyes with Michael again.

Blood was beginning to fill up Michael's mouth again. He swallowed it, gagging from the taste. "I'm sorry," he blurted out, reaching onto the dresser in Glenn's room and grabbing a white tee shirt. He leaned down and wiped up the red mess.

Michael stood up again, clutching the stained shirt in his hands. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Glenn shook his head, his green eyes glazed over with tears, all anger now gone from his face. "No," he said softly, looking at the tee shirt in Michael's hands. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I…I don't know what's wrong with me…"

"Glenn," Michael began, carefully, "I just need to know something. Did you stop taking your…medication?" Once the question had escaped his lips, Michael instantly wondered if he should have asked it.

Glenn did not reach up and strike him, however. Nor did the fury return to his eyes. He simply nodded his head and murmured, "Yes."

Michael inhaled deeply. He knew that since Glenn had stopped taking his medication, the situation could only get worse. "Well, maybe...maybe _that's _what's...what's wrong," he replied, somewhat shakily.

Glenn sniffed, his eyes still locked on the now-bloody tee shirt. "I know, but...I ran out. And I can't get more. Not with you here. I can't leave you all alone. I don't trust you anymore." As he spoke the last five words, tears of, what appeared to be, shame or sorrow began to slip down his face. "I don't trust you anymore," he said again in a whisper, as though just realizing it.

Michael frowned. He did not blame Glenn for not trusting him. In all honesty, he did not really deserve Glenn's trust. Nor want it...

But Glenn's trust in him was the only thing that would be able to save him from this hell. "I know," he said, nodding. "And I can understand that, but..." He trailed off. _How in the fuck am I going to get him to _trust_ me again? Maybe I can get him to leave...give me a chance to escape...maybe..._

"I know that you don't trust me, but you can't do this to yourself. I mean, I don't _want_ you to do this to yourself," he added, knowing that if he showed some compassion for Glenn, odds were in his favor that Glenn would take the bait and leave for a while. To be perfectly honest, he could not give a shit if Glenn was suffering. Actually, he preferred it that way, but he had to get Glenn to believe that he (Michael) did care about his well-being.

Glenn smiled sadly. "You're right. I mean...of _course_ you're right. I can't do this to myself. I can't...I don't want to. Maybe I should..." He turned his head and looked towards the door in a silent wonder.

"Please don't do this to youself. Don't do this to--" In his mind, he screamed. "--us." He looked at Glenn, and watched as Glenn's expression changed dramatically.

"Okay," Glenn said, his smile no longer saddened; now a genuine smile. "I will. I'll go buy some more medication. You're right...you're always right."

Michael forced a smile. The gash on the inside of his cheek was no longer bleeding, he noticed. It still burned like hell though.

Glenn nodded, as though nodding would somehow miraculously cure him. "You're right. I'll go," he mumbled, still nodding. "Okay...you're right. Yes...get some. Okay." He turned around and began to walk back towards the bedroom door.

As soon as he stepped outside, he turned his head and looked back at Michael. "I'm sorry, Michael," he said, his voice so monotonous that his apology sounded sarcastic, even sadistic. "But I still can't trust you." He pulled out the small bronze key and all hope that had existed in Michael's heart was erased with one clean swipe.

He reached for the doorknob and shut the door, the door locking with a click. _Oh my God, no...shit!_ Michael thought in disbelief. He dashed over to the door, grabbing the doorknob. "No, no, no," he mumbled, not able to believe that Glenn had locked him in. He turned the knob--it was locked. He was trapped.

Tears sprung to his eyes as he hit his forehead against the door with a resounding thump. Tears of anger and frustration flowed freely down his face. He pressed his ear against the door just in time to hear the door to Glenn's apartment close. And lock. Leaving him trapped inside that small room, all alone.

Curling his hand into a fist, he pounded softly on the door, his lips moving in a silent prayer: _Please, please, God, open..._

He let his forehead fall back against the door again with an echoing smack. What had he been so surprised when Glenn had locked the door? He should have known. Glenn was not going to trust him. Not anymore.

But even that part of him that had known that Glenn was going to lock him in was not enough to stop the tears from falling. Trickling down the purple bruises, down past the cuts and scrapes, down to the tip of his chin, where they finally fell...down to a complete nothingness.

He ran a hand through jet-black hair, wincing slightly when a twinge of pain was sent through his skull. He brought his hand back down and away from his head and looked at it. His chest instantly tightened at the sight of a sticky red substance on his fingertips.

"Oh shit," he cursed, placing his fingers on the back of his head again. When he brought his hand back to look at it, he drew back slightly seeing that his fingers were now coated in blood.

He cursed again under his breath, reaching his opposite hand up (the one with the swollen wrist) and rubbed at the back of his neck. He was no surprised to discover that his neck had a coating of blood on it as well.

Beginning to panic, he picked up the shirt that he had used to clean up the blood from the floor and pressed it against the gash on his head. To his surprise, feeling the cut through the fabric of the shirt, he discovered that it was not as large as it had seemed, especially considering the amount of blood he had lost.

He leaned against the door, all of his weight upon his right hand. "Why," he said, softly, choking of his own tears. "Why me?" His pitiful cry fell upon no ears other than his own.

He had to get out! Glenn was not out there; he was off getting his medication, or whatever the fuck it was.

Michael lowered the tee shirt from his head and dropped it to the floor. He took a few steps back, his eyes never leaving the door (_"You can't leave and it's all because of me!"_).

Taking a deep breath, Michael sprinted towards the door. His shoulder hit the door and threw him backwards, causing him to fall down onto the floor. Taking no notice, he struggled to his feet and charged the door again. He was pushed away again, but did not fall this time. The door had given that time, but only a little bit.

He shook his head. Charging the door was not going to work, at least not in the condition he was in. He approached the door and gave it a swift kick, more out of desperation than of believing that it would actually work.

The door remained closed, grinning at him (_"And it's all because of ME!!!_). Michael slunk to the ground, in a kneeling position, pressed his hands to his head and let out a loud, shuddering sob. His whole body shook with each sob…each terror-filled sob.

After a moment, he collapsed on the ground, his arms wrapped around himself. He wiped the tears from his face with his arm. His eyes were burning and he was afraid to imagine what he looked like now.

He coughed into his hand and began to cry harder when he saw the dark red spots that had arisen with his cough. "God, someone _help_ me," he muttered, burying his head in his arms. "I miss you so much, Ben. Why can't someone find me?"

He closed his eyes; closing them actually caused them to burn even more. But it felt good somehow. _So_ good.

Lying on the ground for a matter of minutes, Michael was able to examine what parts of his body hurt the worst. It was no longer his wrist, although it did still ache. It was his head and his stomach that hurt the worst. They both pulsated together in a rhythmic beat, sending a wave of discomfort throughout his body.

_Something tells me I'm getting sick_, he thought to himself. _And I'm probably right; I haven't had a good meal or anything in a few days. God help me if I'm getting sick. _He_ won't take me to the doctor, no matter _how_ bad I get. Ben, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault. I should've told you when he called me. I should've told you about him. I'm sorry for putting you through this. I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm sorry I didn't say anything on the phone earlier. I'm so...sorry!_

Tears began to flow from his eyes again. "I'm...so sorry," he whispered, rolling onto his side. "So sorry..."

He shuddered, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"...so sorry."

_To Be Continued..._


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators. 

Author's Note-Many thanks to "FW," RosaleenBan, "Wanda," "Isabell," PrettyPetalz65, and SharpShooter626 for reviewing Chapter Fifteen. Much love to you all!

Oh, and just so you all know, if you see a passage written in first person, it is Glenn…just saying to avoid confusion! And, as always, review!

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Pain has an element of blank;  
It cannot recollect  
When it began, or if there were  
A day when it was not.  
It has no future but itself,  
Its infinite realms contain  
Its past, enlightened to perceive  
New periods of pain.  
-Emily Dickinson

Refuse to be ill.  
Never tell people you are ill;  
never own it to yourself.  
Illness is one of those  
things which a man  
should resist on principle.  
-Edward Bulwer-Lytton

Health is not valued  
till sickness comes.  
-Dr. Thomas Fuller

Clawing up my eyes.  
I'm fearing your arms  
around me. On the other side  
It's time to go. I'm hearing  
your voice without words.  
On the other side.  
-Lacuna Coil "Unspoken"

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

I know that Michael is right about me…but even though I'm so close to Dr. Carmon's office, I can not bring myself to go inside. I can see the window to his office from where I am standing on the street; every so often I see someone inside move in front of the window, and I have an urge to either run or hide, just so he won't see me.

I know I should go inside, but…I just can't. I do not want to lose everything I have worked for, everything I love_. It will all be gone if I go in there. All of it…gone._

A car horn sounds and I literally jump a few inches off of the ground. I can see the passers-by eyeing me in silent vexation, shrugging off my odd behavior with a roll of their eyes.

I don't care what they think; their attitudes aren't anything new to me. Just a new addition to everything that has ever happened to me. You learn to ignore it after a while.

I stick my hands deep into my pockets and begin to walk down the street, away from that sign that reads, "Dr. Patrick Carmon, MD." _I cannot look at that building anymore; if I do, I may blurt out everything to the people on the streets, which would be even worse than telling Dr. Carmon._

As I pass by an accounting office, I glance at myself in the mirror-like window. It is hard to believe that only four years ago, I was voted "Most Likely To Succeed" by my senior class, that I had won the title of Prom King that same year, that I had had friends, real friends,_ and then it all disappeared. Because of that fucking _plane crash_. God, why did that have to happen to me? It ruined _everything _for me!_

_I walk past the mirror-like window, with one last glance at my hunched-over body, and continue walking down the street. I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out a pack of cigarettes and a small box of matches. I light a cigarette and bring it to my lips, inhaling deeply on it. Instantly I begin to feel better. _

_I exhale, watching the gray smoke fill the air around me.I stare up at the overcast sky. Michael's getting sick. I could tell by the way his eyes were glazed over--the glaze of illness, not sadness. There's a difference. A huge difference._

_I inhale deeply on the cigarette and exhale, ignoring the glare I receive from a mother, her daughter's fingers crushed tightly between her own. I can tell what she is thinking: "Why don't you put that out and quit ruining everyone else's air?" In my mind, I give her the finger, but in reality, I do nothing. Just ignore it. Like I always have._

_If Michael really is getting sick, then I have to do something about it. I can't wait until he gets really sick and I have to take him to the hospital. Because then they'll know who he is and, considering the "Missing" ad in the paper a few days ago, they'll turn him (and me) in._

_I continue walking; there is a pharmacy just down the block from here. I'll pick him up some medicine and then go back to my apartment. I just wish I knew what he has. Oh well, I'll just have to guess…_

_As I stop at an intersection and reach out to press the CROSS button, something catches my eye. A flyer is taped (with duct tape, I notice) to the crosswalk signal pole. On the flyer is Michael's picture and a brief description as well as two phone numbers--Ben and Michael's mother._

_The picture of Michael is captivating--the way he is smiling, the absolute joy that is in his eyes…the joy that I just cannot seem to bring to him. But why can't I? I know tat I am not as attractive as Ben, but that does not mean that I simply can't bring Michael the same joy, right?_

_I stare into the smiling eyes of Michael's picture for God only knows how long. My unconscious staring is interrupted when someone bumps against my shoulder, awakening me from my momentary doze._

_I glance over at the opposite crosswalk signal--the white, walking man is blinking, signaling me to walk. I turn and nonchalantly grab the flyer from the post and crumple it up into a ball in my hand._

_As I cross the intersection I glance around to make sure that no one had been watching me. And no one had been, of course. I am invisible in the public's eye. Just another face in the crowd, one that someone would quickly scan, and then never think about again. A nobody._

_I stop just outside the pharmacy and toss the crumpled-up flyer into a trash can. I then reach up, take one long last drag on my cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stepping on it to put the embers out._

_I push open the door to the pharmacy, listening to the sound of the tinkling bells that are attached to the door--a signal that I have entered. A young girl standing behind the check-out counter smiles at me and says, "Hello."_

_I simply smile in reply and continue into the pharmacy. Looking over all of the aisles, I come across an aisle marked, "Aspirin." I begin to walk towards the aisle, instantly wishing that I had not thrown out my cigarette--I really could use another drag._

_I enter the aisle and look over all of the different medicines. Tylenol, Advil, Ibuprofen…I run a hand through my hair. God, I wish that I knew what Michael had, so that I would know what to get him._

_I turn and make to exit the "Aspirin" aisle when I pause and look back over at the small bottle of Ibuprofen. I reach out and pick it up--I may not know what disease Michael has, but, at the very least, I can give him some painkillers for whatever hurts he may have._

_I exit the "Aspirin" aisle and turn, walking into an aisle that is stocked with splints, braces, and (the thing I'm looking for) wrap. I know that Michael hurt his wrist somehow, so I can also help him by getting him some wrap (or a support) for his wrist._

_I quickly grab the most expensive wrap-around wrist support (only the very best for him) and begin to make my way to the checkout counter, pausing only for a moment to glance down the "Aspirin" aisle one last time._

_As I drop the Ibuprofen and the wrist support onto the checkout counter (the one where the girl who had greeted me was standing), the young girl behind the counter gives me one of those I'm-only-smiling-because-it's-my-job smile and asks me if "that'll be all."_

_I respond that it is and pull out my wallet from my hip pocket, waiting for the girl to tell me what my total is. She drops the aspirin and the wrist support into a small plastic bag and tells me that my total is five dollars and fifty-seven cents._

_I nod and pull out a five and a one from my wallet. As I drop the money onto the table, I murmur something along the lines of "Keep the change." I hate change. Takes up too much space in your wallet and it has absolutely no point…_

_Whether she heard me or not, I do not know, nor do I care. I simply grab the small plastic bag and walk swiftly out of the store._

_The bells jingle as I exit the pharmacy. I reach back into my pocket and pull out another cigarette, as well as the box of matches. __As I light the cigarette, the plastic bag's arm loops around the crook of my elbow, I look up at the sky again; it's going to rain. Soon, I'll bet._

_Dropping the match onto the concrete sidewalk, I begin to walk back towards Dr. Carmon's office. Scratch that…back to my car. I climb inside my car and, after tossing the plastic bag into the back seat, I start the car._

_I drive away from Dr. Carmon's building so fast that I barely even remember pulling out of the parking spot._

_As I drive back to my apartment building, I am forced to pass by Babylon. There are still those yellow "Police Line - Do Not Cross" banners wrapped around the entrances. Looks like Babylon's going to be closed for a while…and if they plan on reopening it as soon as they find Michael, Babylon will never be open again…because they won't find him. They _can't _find him!_

_A drop of rain falls down from the sky and splatters on my windshield so loudly that, for a moment, I thought that a bug had hit the windshield. I glance up at the sky--dark, dark clouds have appeared, sending down large droplets of rain. Seems like I was right about it raining..._

_Breathing deeply on my cigarette, I roll down my window (even in spite of the rain), reach out, and tap the cigarette, watching as the gray ashes fall down onto the street. I bring my arm back inside and roll up the window, exhaling._

_It feels good to be able to smoke as much as I want. Ever since Michael first came into the apartment, I cut down to only three cigarettes a day, and I was careful not to smoke them around him, and I always_, always_, had a few breath mints, just to be sure that the smell was gone. I don't want to do anything to disgust him._

_I think, at my worst, I was smoking two packs a day. That was before I started going to Dr. Carmon, who convinced me to cut back a little--one pack a day. And something tells me that I'm going to finish _this_ pack come midnight tonight._

_When I arrive at my apartment building, I am careful to park my car on the opposite side of the street...just in case._

_I grab the plastic bag from the pharmacy and exit my car, ignoring the rain that gets on the leather seating. I walk across the street to my apartment building, being extra-careful that no rain gets on my purchases._

_I hope he begins to feel better. I really, really do._

* * *

Michael was sitting on Glenn's bed again, looking at his hands, which were clenched tightly in his lap. His head was throbbing. An unnatural pulse was thumping in his temples, causing him to reach up every so often and rub at the spot that hurt. 

It was all so aggravating, not being able to leave, especially when Glenn was not even there. It was the perfect chance to leave and yet…he could not. All because of that one barrier that was preventing him from reaching everyone and everything he loved: that goddamn _door_.

In addition to his headache, his eyes were burning like hell, not because of how sick he felt, but because of the amount of tears he had shed. He had been crying for over half an hour, and he had only stopped crying a few minutes before. And, during his crying session, he had had over a billion thoughts about what he could do, or what was going to happen, or what had already happened, and he had subconsciously decided on one thing:

It was hopeless.

Everything was hopeless. He had tried so,_ so_ hard to get away, to get into contact with Ben, to reason with Glenn, and it had all blown up in his face (both figuratively and literally).

He was beginning to think that maybe he should simply give up and live his life the way Glenn wanted him to…put up with all of the shit Glenn would do to him. All of the punches, all of the yelling, all of the forced kisses and hugs and, of course, the forced sex.

Michael's whole body shuddered. He could not think about it anymore. He had accepted the fact that it had happened, but just _thinking_ about all of the stuff that Glenn had done to him made his whole body ache uncontrollably. Not to mention the fact that it made him want to simply break down and cry.

He brought his hand up to his mouth and coughed. He could feel himself getting sicker as the day progressed but refused to acknowledge it to himself. Being sick was one of those subconscious things. Once you've admitted that you are sick, then you _really _begin to feel sick. That was one of those many things he had learned during middle and high school.

But as moments began to pass him by, he knew that there was no getting around it; he had gotten sick somehow. Quite possibly when Glenn had kidnapped him from Babylon and Glenn had carried him through the rain. Or the other possibility was that he had simply not had enough to eat. Being hungry often did strange things to him.

Well, whatever the reason is, I don't feel myself getting any better, Michael thought to himself, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He lowered his hand back into his lap and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. _I wonder if Glenn really _did_ go to his psychiatrist, or if he's actually out there, waiting to see if I'll try and leave._

Michael ran the fingers of his right hand along the swollen part of his left wrist. It was beginning to get tender again, and he wondered if it was indeed broken, or just sprained. Either way, he wished that he had some ice to bring down the swelling.

He closed his eyes, trying to picture Ben's face in his mind. It was the one facet of him that was keeping him from completely giving into himself. Just to see his lover again…it was the most wonderful and beautiful thing that he could possibly think of.

Tears of desire and yearning filled his eyes, trailing down his cheeks and landing on the sheets of Glenn's bed, turning the dark blue of the sheets to an even darker shade of blue. It seemed that he had shed over a million tears since he had been in this apartment._ And for good reason, _he added in his mind. _Not even Brian could blame me for crying in this situation._

After a moment, Michael thought, _I wonder how Brian would be in this situation. Well, I know for a fact that he wouldn't mind the sex part, but…how would _he_ have handled this whole thing?_

Michael let his mind wander on the subconscious question he had asked himself and finally decided, _It doesn't matter what_ Brian _would've done. _I'm _the one who's stuck here. And thinking about how someone else would've handled this isn't going to get me out of this because Brian and I are different. Brian would've punched and cussed the guy out for even coming near him, and I…I thought more about Glenn's feelings than I probably should have…and that's what makes this situation worse for me than it would have been for someone like Brian. I think too much about how_ he _feels..._

Michael sat upright on the bed. He scratched at the scabbed-over cut in the back of his head. His hair felt dirty, along with the rest of his body. What he would not give for a nice long, hot shower…and he would not complain if Ben happened to be in the shower with him…

A smile spread across his face at that last thought…and then faded away. Who knew if he would ever get a chance to _see_ Ben again, much less hop in the shower with him…

Michael sighed. Everything he wanted to do, everything and everyone he wanted to see seemed so intangible. And it was all because of that goddamn _door_. Staring daggers at the closed door, Michael picked up one of the pillows from the head of Glenn's bed and flung it at the door. The pillow bounced back towards him with nothing but a small _thump_.

Emitting a small grunt in anger, Michael jumped up from the bed and rushed towards the door. He grabbed the doorknob with both of his hands, trying desperately to ignore the twinge of pain in his left wrist, turned and pulled, praying that the door would open, or that the doorknob would simply pop off and allow the door to open.

The door did not give, nor did the doorknob come off. Michael released the doorknob, staring in frustration at the door. Without even a second thought, Michael threw himself at the door, instantly feeling a pang of pain when his shoulder hit the door with a sickening _thud_.

Michael felt his body being pushed back away from the doorway. His hand went up in reflex, rubbing at the sore spot in his shoulder. He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt and looked at the spot--it was already turning red and had the look of a future bruise.

Great, Michael thought, sighing deeply. _Just what I need._ He turned and, giving the pillow from Glenn's bed a swift kick, moved back to the bed and sat down. He felt his forehead with the back of his hand. It felt like he was burning up, but you could never tell if you had a fever by feeling your own forehead. _Unfortunately for me,_ Michael thought, sighing.

Michael looked up at the doorway again. Had he heard a door closing? Michael felt his heart plummet down to his stomach. Glenn was home, and that could only bring more anguish. The knowledge that Glenn had returned literally brought more tears to Michael's eyes. He had not realized how much better he felt when Glenn was not around.

There was a light tap on the door, followed by Glenn's voice. "Michael, I got something for you," Glenn said in a singsong-like voice.

Great, what is it? Poison, maybe? More Somnulin,_ perhaps?_ _Only if I'm lucky…or, maybe it's that handgun._ That last thought sent a chill up his spine. _Maybe sending him to the psychiatrist was a bad idea, _Michael thought, swallowing the golf ball sized lump in his throat.

There was a faint click as Glenn unlocked the door and stepped inside the room. Michael's stomach knotted with itself; he did not like the way Glenn was walking towards him, his hands behind his back, hiding something.

Michael opened his mouth to reply, but felt something hitching in his throat. "What…what is it?" he managed to get out, before a wave of an uncomfortable nausea overtook him.

Glenn smiled at him and Michael could tell, judging by the scent on Glenn's clothes, that Glenn had been smoking. And a lot, by the smell of it. Glenn pulled a small plastic bag out from behind his back--a white bag red lettering with the words, "Thank You," printed on it about six times per side. A pharmacy bag, it looked like.

"I got you," Glenn said, almost sheepishly, "some Ibuprofen and a wrist support, because I know that you hurt your wrist somehow," he finished, pulling out each of the items as he listed them off.

Michael stared in disbelief at the two items that Glenn had bought him. Sometimes it amazed him how much Glenn truly cared for him, even in spite of never meeting him until a few days prior. "Wow," he said, softly. "That's…really nice of you, Glenn."

Glenn's cheeks blushed to a deep shade of red and he smiled genuinely at Michael. "You're welcome," he mumbled, his green eyes seeming oddly soft--Michael could not recall another time when they had looked so innocent.

Michael picked up the wrist support and, in one quick movement, tore the plastic and cardboard off of the support. Wrapping it around his swollen wrist, Michael attempted to attach the Velcro to fit his wrist.

"I…I could…" Glenn stammered, as though he was embarrassed to even offer his assistance. He cleared his throat and began again. "I could help you, if you want."

At any other time, Michael would have told Glenn to fuck off, but, seeing that Glenn was having one of his "sane" moments, and considering how much his wrist was throbbing, Michael nodded and offered his wrist out to Glenn.

Glenn's eyes flickered with a sudden joy and Michael could almost picture Glenn jumping in the air, shouting out happily. Michael held back a chuckle and watched as Glenn secured the wrist support around his wrist, attaching the Velcro in a spot so that it was not too tight, and yet would not fall off.

Michael's chest tightened slightly as he noticed the way that Glenn was staring at his hand, which was lying in the palm of Glenn's hand. He slowly took his hand back and dropped it to his side. "Thanks," Michael said, forcing a smile.

Glenn nodded in reply, his expression now downcast from, Michael assumed, the way that Michael had taken his hand back. "Sure," Glenn murmured, beginning to turn away.

Michael ran a hand through his hair and grimaced at the greasy feeling that he received. "Uhh, Glenn," Michael began. "Do you think it'd be all right if I took a shower?"

For a moment, Michael was positive that Glenn was going to perceive his request as some sort of an invitation, but Glenn simply nodded, that downcast expression still painted onto his face. He gestured for Michael to follow him. Michael followed obediently, trailing behind Glenn as he was led to the bathroom. "Go ahead," Glenn said in a low voice.

"Okay," Michael replied, walking into the bathroom. As soon as he entered the bathroom, Glenn leaned inside and pulled the door shut. Michael listened to the dreaded sound of the door locking, and sighed.

He undressed quickly, hoping that Glenn would not invite himself in. Trying to avoid looking at himself in the mirror, he stepped into the bath/shower and pulled the curtain shut. He turned on the shower (being careful not to get his left hand wet) and was instantly met with a stream of icy cold water.

As the water began to get warmer, Michael was able to get a good look at himself, and instantly decided that taking a shower had not been a good idea. From what he could see, nearly his entire torso was covered in black and blue marks, as well as the occasional scabbed-over cut. The gash in his leg had once again sealed over, for good this time, it appeared.

Closing his eyes, Michael stuck his head underneath the running water, running his right hand through his hair in an attempt to get the greasy feeling out. As his fingers glistened over the cut on the back of his head, Michael felt himself accidently tear off part of the scab that had formed over the cut.

A thin, light stream of red slid down his neck and back before landing on the floor of the shower. "Aw fuck," Michael murmured to himself, pressing the first two fingers of his right hand against the cut, hoping to stop the bleeding. "Come on," he groaned, looking up at the ceiling.

After a few more moments of savoring the warmth of the water, Michael turned off the shower and grabbed the towel that had been hanging on a towel rack just outside of the shower. He quickly wiped himself dry and re-dressed. Wiping away the fog that had appeared on the mirror, Michael looked at his reflection. He did not look like himself anymore. He looked completely and utterly miserable. Even more-so then when he had nearly lost his chance with Ben a few years prior.

Staring into his red and purple rimmed eyes, Michael placed his elbows on the countertop, held his head in his hands, and began to sob. _Why is this happening to me? _Michael thought to himself in between sobs. _God, why is this happening to me?_

There was a knock on the door followed by, "Michael, are you all right?"

Michael sighed and, lifting his head and staring into eyes that were not his own, replied, "No."

* * *

"Carl, are you sure that you don't have any leads at all?" Ben asked Detective Carl Horvath for the umpteenth time since the beginning of their conversation. 

Ben heard Carl sigh loudly. _"Again, no, we don't. And I'm very, _very_ sorry, Ben. You don't know how truly sorry I am. I wish that I could say we have a lead, or a suspect, but we don't. Aside from a bashing, we can't figure out any other reason that this would've happened._

"I know, Carl, and I'm sorry for pushing you so hard on this, but...I just..." Ben paused, blinking back tears.

_"I understand how you're feeling, Ben. And don't worry about pushing me; Deb's been twice as worse than you have."_ Ben smiled; he had no trouble believing that. _"Well, I've got to get back to work..."_

"Okay Carl, and thanks." Ben hung up the phone and sighed deeply. What the hell could have happened to Michael?

"So, what'd you find out?" Hunter asked from behind Ben, while shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. Hunter's eating did not deceive Ben--he could tell that Hunter was almost, if not just, as worried as he (Ben) was about Michael.

"Not much," Ben admitted, shaking his head in disconsolateness.

"Oh," Hunter replied, looking dejected. "But that means that you found out something, right?" he asked, looking desperate for an acceptable answer.

Looking down at the ground, Ben shook his head. "No. The only logical reason the police can come up with is a bashing. And I just don't...feel like that's the reason for it."

Hunter nodded. "Yeah, neither do I." He paused, shoveling another handful of chips into his mouth. "But...then what happened?" he asked through a mouthful of food.

Ben looked at him, his blue eyes glazed over with sorrow. "I don't know, pal," he whispered. "I...I don't know. God, I wish I did, though," he added, holding back the tears that threatened to fall; he did not want to worry Hunter even more by having him see his guardian, no, his _father_ cry.

"So do I," Hunter murmured, turning around and walking back into the kitchen, clutching onto the chip bag as though it was the only thing that would keep him from completely breaking down. And Ben assumed that it was so. The poor kid had left his mother and entered a more secure family, only to have it broken apart by some outside cause.

Ben moved back to the couch, sitting down and staring at the blank screen of the television. He did not have the will nor the energy to find the remote and turn on the television...not that he would be able to focus on what he was watching anyway. There was too much shit going on, too much _everything_ going on.

He reached over and picked up a throw pillow from the couch. Wrapping his arms around it protectively, Ben rested his chin on the pillow and continued to stare at the television screen, waiting for the phone to ring...waiting for someone to tell him what had happened to his lover.

Waiting...and waiting....

_To Be Continued..._


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Much love and thanks go out to my reviewers of Chapter Sixteen: "FW," Mikou71, blondenbeautiful, PrettyPetalz65, "Isabell," and "Flissy."

And thanks to Mikou71, who informed me about some grammatical errors I had, which I have fixed. Thanks so much! I always _really_ appreciate when someone tells me about a grammar error. I have a kind of fetish when it comes to grammar...ahem, anyway, please read and review!

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

All prayers and hopes are  
a reaching-out for coincidences.  
- Eric Hoffer

I feel alive, you are my ecstasy,  
and it's you that I'm craving  
I feel alive, you are my energy  
So why do you hate me?  
-InMe "Faster The Chase"

I'm addicted to you  
I think you know that it's true  
I'd run a thousand miles to get you  
Do you think I deserve this?  
-Simple Plan "Addicted"

How ever far away  
I will always love you  
How ever long I stay  
I will always love you  
Whatever words I say  
I will always love you.  
-311 "Love Song"

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

"Michael?" Glenn said, opening the door a crack. "I said, are you all right?" He looked at Michael with glazed over eyes--not glazed over from crying, however. Glazed over from drinking. Michael could tell; it was the same look that he had seen on Brian's face many, many times…but this was the first time that look had ever frightened him.

There was liquor on Glenn's breath as well. Had it always been there, or had Glenn decided, _"Oh hell with it, I'm having a drink"_? Michael had no answer to either question, but the stench of the liquor and that look in Glenn's eye made his stomach do flip-flops…and yet…seeing Glenn drunk gave him a strange burst of energy.

"And I said, _no_, I'm _not_ all right!" Michael shouted, causing Glenn to open the door even wider. "I'm not all right! I'm trapped in the goddamn place and I want to go the fuck _home!"_

Glenn entered the room, a look of bewilderment upon his face. "Michael, why…why are you acting this way? I got you…I got…" He looked at the wrap on Michael's wrist, murmuring "…I got…" under his breath.

"I don't care_ what_ the hell you got me!" Michael yelled, ripping off the wrap and hurling across the small room. "It doesn't make me _love _you if you buy me something for something that wouldn't have even been hurt if _you_ hadn't been around!" Michael's wrist was throbbing again, but he ignored it; his attention was focused on the lank man in front of him.

"I'll _never_ love you!" he yelled, and his throat screamed out at him to stop, but he could not. Now that he had started, he was not going to stop. "Don't you _get _that? You can buy me as much shit as you want, I won't care! I don't love you! And I never will!"

He was repeating himself, but, for the moment, did not much care about anything except for yelling at Glenn--yelling at him until he broke down and cried and sobbed and kneeled over because of the crying, giving Michael a chance to kick that son of a bitch in the throat and watch as he screams out in pain…

"But you know that, don't you?" Michael asked, the anger still in his voice, but the level of volume dropped down greatly. "You know that I'll never love you…that's why you want to keep me here. So that I'll eventually have no choice but to love you. Well, I can tell you something: it won't fucking work, Glenn. You can keep me here 'til we're both about to die of old-fucking-age and I still would hate you."

Glenn stared at Michael, looking as though he could hear Michael's words, but was simply unable to react to them. "I'm…I'm…" Glenn stammered, the dark circles under his eyes suddenly seeming more florescent. "But…I'm…"

"No, _I'll _tell you what you are," Michael snapped, and he mentally noted how much like his mother he was beginning to sound. And he had never been happier for it. "You're a psychotic, drunk, crazy, perverted bastard who thinks that I'll love him and fucking'makes love' to me while I'm unconscious!" Michael said the words "making love" with such a large amount of sarcasm that, had he been with his mother, he would have gotten as slap on the back of the head and called a "smartass."

Glenn stared at him with those glassy green eyes. He was not going to cry, Michael could see that. In fact, there was no emotion in his eyes whatsoever. Just that blank, glassy stare. It was enough to send a shiver up even the bravest man on Earth's spine.

"And…and…" Michael trailed off, unsure of how to continue. He wanted to desperately; he wanted to tell Glenn everything--maybe Glenn would break down and he could make a run for it…maybe.

"And--" Michael continued, glancing toward his left and catching a glimpse of his swollen, bruised face in the mirror. "And…_look_ at me!" he snapped, reaching up to touch his face. "Do you not realize that _you_…did this?"

Glenn responded for the first time since Michael had started yelling by reaching out with his hand and gently touching Michael's cheek. "I think you're beautiful," he murmured.

Michael frowned, reaching up and pushing Glenn's hand away from his face. "Don't touch me," he snapped. "I don't want you to touch me."

Finally, Glenn's eyes filled with tears. "Why?" he said, softly, with a strange, childlike innocence.

"Why?" Michael repeated, feeling a sense of bliss at seeing Glenn's tears. "Because every time you touch me, _this _happens," he said, gesturing toward the bruises on his face.

Tears slipped out of Glenn's eyes and trailed down his face, gliding into the corners of his mouth. "That's not true," he mumbled.

"No? Then where the fuck did they come from, Glenn, huh?" Michael asked, tersely. "I sure as hell didn't do it to myself!"

"I…I don't know," Glenn stammered. "They just…they…I don't know! All right? I don't _know_!"

"I'll tell you, then. It's because of _you_. Everything that's happened over the past week is because of _you_. You and your obsession with me. Why didn't you leave me the hell alone? You could see that I was doing fine without you. Why did you have to go and _call me?"_

"Because I wanted to die if I didn't have you, you little _shit!" _Glenn yelled, stepping toward Michael and staring down at him with rage-filled eyes. "I wanted to _die!_ I was so close, and you saved me! That's when I knew we were supposed to be together…I don't care what you believe, I know you really love me!"

Glenn moved his body closer to Michael's. Michael, in return, backed away even further from Glenn, beginning to feel nervous about what Glenn was going to do. He continued backing up until he felt the back of his legs brush something solid.

Noticing that Glenn was still coming towards him, Michael, forgetting about the solid object behind him, backed up even more…he felt himself beginning to topple backwards into the bathtub--his legs having been up against the side of the tub--and reached out to grab something to stop the fall.

His right hand grabbed a hold of the towel bar that was in the shower and he was able to stop himself from falling. He pulled himself upright again, his fingers still wrapped around the bar, as though he would fall down if he were to let go.

Michael stared up at Glenn and opened his mouth to yell something, anything, when a strange sensation formed in his throat. He began to cough. And cough. And cough. And it burned so badly to cough, but if he did not, that strange sensation was sure to take him over and make him feel even worse.

He could not stop coughing. His throat was screaming bloody murder (_No, don't think about blood, Michael, don't think about blood!_), begging him to stop his coughing, but he could not. He just _could not_.

Glenn stared at him in a curious dismay, not knowing what to do. He reached over to the sink, picked up a small glass and filled it with water. He handed it to Michael with a murmur of "Here, drink this."

Michael, as much as he did not want to, accepted the glass of water and began to drink. The sensation began to disappear and the coughing stopped. He sighed in relief once he had emptied the glass, thankful that the coughing spell had ended. For the time being, anyway.

Glenn was staring at him again, that glazed look back in his eyes, but Michael refused to look back at him. After that coughing session, he felt exhausted, and, now, all he wanted to do was sleep. He yawned as though to prove this to himself, and murmured, "I'm going to bed."

He tried to walk past Glenn when he felt a hand grasp his arm. "Tell me you love me," Glenn said, in that robotic, monotonous voice.

Michael glared at him. "No," he said, firmly.

Glenn's other hand reached out and grabbed Michael's other arm, pulling Michael closer to him. "Tell me," he said again. His and Michael's faces were so close together that the liquor smell was nearly unbearable. And considering how many times he and Brian had gotten drunk together, Michael knew that Glenn had gone overboard on the drinking.

"No!" Michael said again, firmer this time. "I don't love you!" he said, enunciating each word so that Glenn would have no difficulty understanding him.

One of Glenn's hands left Michael's arm and, without any given warning, came hurdling at Michael's face in a fist. As soon as the fist made contact with his cheekbone, a horde of bells went off in Michael's ears. His head was thrown back and a sharp pain flew up the side of his neck.

Michael cried out in both pain and surprise, watching as his vision was covered with an assembly of different colored spots. He lifted his free hand up to his cheek and felt the spot where Glenn's fist had made contact with him--there was blood there, and Michael was not surprised.

His neck was pulsating painfully. He pressed his hand against his neck, rubbing at the throbbing spot. _Oh God, what if I got whiplash? It sure _feels_ like I did..._

His vision darkened suddenly, then returned. He stared up at Glenn, who was watching him intently, as though he knew that Michael was going to slip into unconsciousness. And maybe he _did_ know...

Michael's vision darkened again and he staggered to the side, falling against the wall of the bathroom and sliding down into a sitting position. The last thing he saw before slipping into unconsciousness was Glenn kneeling down beside him…and reaching toward him…

* * *

Detective Carl Horvath was walking down the street, hands deep in his pockets, head bent over slightly so that he was watching the sidewalk more than where he was walking, thus causing him to bump into someone every so often.

He barely noticed when someone's shoulder would strike against his own; he was so deep in thought. _How am I going to tell Debbie that we haven't gotten any closer to finding Michael?_ he asked himself. Just half an hour ago, he had gotten a call from Debbie demanding that he come down to the diner and fill her in on "everything."

"God, if only there were something to 'fill her in on,'" he murmured to himself, seeing only out of the corner of his eye the odd glances that a passer-by had given him. He did not care if people thought that he was talking to himself. _Who cares what they think? I'm the one who's knee-deep in shit, trying to figure out a way out of it_.

He knew that Debbie was going to scream at him for not trying harder. But he was trying as hard as he could, he really was! But try telling her that; in her opinion, if Michael was still missing, there was someone who was not working hard enough. _And it looks like that person is going to be me, no matter _what_ I say, _he thought, sighing.

Maybe he _could_ be trying harder. After all, Michael could not have just "disappeared" without a trace. There was always--well, _almost_ always--some kind of screw up when someone kidnaps another person. Some kind of clue that the kidnapper had forgotten or left behind accidentally. If a kidnapping was even what had happened, of course.

But what if there _had_ been a clue? A piece of evidence that he had just "skipped over" somehow. _God help me if I did,_ he thought, feeling a pang of worry in his stomach. _I'd never be able to forgive myself if that happened._

Carl looked up ahead and saw the sign _Liberty Diner_ up ahead of him, about one block away, and he instantly began to feel moisture forming on the palms of his hands. He swallowed, chewing on the inside of his lip, hoping to calm the nerves that had overtaken him. _Amazing, investigating a homicide I can do with no problem, but talking to Debbie Novotny about her missing son--can't even think about it without breaking into a sweat._

He chuckled softly at his last thought, earning himself yet another look of oddity from a looker-on on the street. As he stopped in front of the diner, he inhaled a deep breath to calm his nerves, then opened the door.

He was not in the diner more than five seconds before he heard a high-pitched exclaim of "Carl!" Debbie Novotny nearly knocked over a couple who had been walking toward the restrooms in her attempt to get to the detective.

He smiled wanly. "Hello Debbie," he greeted in a monotonous tone of voice. "How…how are you?" he asked, unsure of what exactly he should say.

Debbie frowned at him, putting her hands on her hips. "How the fuck do you think I am, Carl? Michael's still missing--need I remind you?--so obviously I'm not doing well at all!"

Carl nodded. "I know…I don't know why I asked, I just…wasn't sure what to say, exactly."

"Well, I can appreciate that, but if you need any help in deciding what to say, why don't you tell me how much closer we are to finding my baby?" Debbie asked, her voice harsh and demanding, but her eyes held a certain look of desperation and pleading that caused Carl to feel guilty that he had nothing helpful to say to her.

_I don't think there's any way I can tell her that we don't have _any_ idea of what happened to Michael,_ Carl thought, looking up at the ceiling in--what he hoped appeared to be--a thoughtful way. _She's been so miserable without him...I don't want to make her feel even worse. Or more worried..._

Debbie's eyebrows furrowed; she did not like the silence that had fallen over Carl, nor did she like the way he was looking at the ceiling or, more correctly, the fact that he was not looking at _her_. "Carl?" she asked, her voice shaking from anxiety.

"Can we have some service, _please_?" Debbie turned in the direction of the voice--a middle-aged man with an irritated look upon his face--and shouted back in reply, "You'll get your service once I figure out what's happened to my missing son. That all right with you, sir?" A light pink appeared in the man's cheeks, a look of embarrassment covered his face, and he nodded.

"Good," Debbie snapped, looking back at Carl, who still refused to look back at her. "Carl, tell me something, _anything that_ you've figured out. _Please, _Carl."

Carl looked back at Debbie, now seeing a new look in her eyes: a look of despair. He sighed. "I wish that I could tell you something Deb, but--"

"--you haven't found a _thing_?" Debbie retorted, the despair in her eyes disappearing, a look of anger replacing it. "But what--what about that emergency exit door? I thought that you would be able to find fingerprints on it…"

"The problem with that was that there were so many different fingerprints on the door that we could never figure out which one belonged to your son, or your son's abductors, as the case may be."

"Well, find everyone that's ever been in that fucking dance club and get them to give you their fucking fingerprints! Then you'll be able to figure out who took my…my…" Tears began to well up in her eyes, her expression changing into one of complete anguish. "…my..._baby_!" She did not say the last word but rather shrieked it, her voice rising into an octave that Carl did not like.

She fell forward into Carl's chest, wrapping her arms around his torso. Carl, not expecting Debbie to fall onto him, nearly fell over when Debbie hurled herself at him. After regaining his balance, he wrapped his arms loosely around her, patting her back reassuringly. "It's all right, Deb. It's all right," he whispered, tasting the lie in his mouth. It was not all right, and he knew it, but he did not know what else to say.

They stayed like that for a matter of minutes. Every so often Debbie would push herself even deeper into Carl's chest, the buttons on her vest pressing into his chest as well.

When she finally pulled away, wiping at her puffy red eyes, she only stared at the floor, unable to meet Carl's gaze. "...sorry," she murmured, sniffling loudly.

"Don't be," Carl replied. "We all want Michael back. And we'll get him back, I promise you that." He tried to get Debbie to meet his eyes. "Okay?" he asked, as an adult might speak to a stubborn child.

Debbie looked up and locked eyes with the detective. And nodded. "I know we will. And God help whoever took him. I'll spend the rest of my life making sure that their lives are a living hell."

Carl chuckled. "I know you will," he replied, and Debbie smiled sadly. "And I promise, as soon as we find _anything_, as small as it may be, you'll be the first I'll call."

"Make sure you call Ben too," Debbie said. "He came in just this morning, and I didn't need to ask to know that he hasn't gotten any sleep in a while." Carl nodded, replying that he would. "Thanks Carl," Debbie said, as Carl turned to leave. "Michael would appreciate all of this."

Carl gave her a quick smile before turning back around and exiting the diner. Debbie wiped away the tear-lines on her face, put on a stony expression, and walked over to the man who had addressed her before. "I'm sorry for the delay," she said, trying to sound sarcastic, but only succeeding in sounding flustered. "What do you want?" she asked, pulling out a small notebook and a pencil.

"Erm..." The man cast his eyes back down to the menu in, what seemed to be, embarrassment. "I'll have the..." He pointed to what he wanted on the menu, as though suddenly unable to speak.

"Okay," Debbie replied, curtly, scribbling down the man's order in the notebook. As she turned away from the man, she shoved the notebook into her pocket, thinking to herself, _There's one order I'll be spitting in._

She smiled at the thought. _That'll teach him not to be so goddamn rude._ Still smiling at the thought of the man biting into a spit-covered piece of chicken, Debbie began to make her way over to the kitchen.

She froze and nearly cried out in fear when a hand grabbed her shoulder. She spun around and was met with the face of a kind, yet obviously unsettled, face. "Holy fuck," she said in a quiet voice, one hand pressed upon her chest, feeling her sprinting heart. "What?" she said, shortly. She did not wish to upset the man, but she was still rattled up from the scare he had given her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you..." the man began, looking at her with that set of kind eyes--that type of eyes that belonged to a person who would listen to you, _really_ listen to you; not just zone out once you left their area of interest.

"Well, you did, sweetie," Debbie replied, instantly wondering where the "sweetie" came from. Maybe it was just those eyes...and that face that makes you just want to...talk. "One of those faces," they were called.

"I'm sorry," the man said again, and Debbie waved her hand, as though to say, _Don't worry about it_. "I was just wondering if you could direct me to this address," the man said, handing Debbie a small slip of paper with an address written on it in nearly perfect handwriting. Debbie studied the handwriting for a second--it really _was_ almost perfect; the handwriting of someone who must have a job in which he needs to write legibly. A novelist, perhaps? A teacher, maybe?

Snapping out of her momentary lapse, Debbie read the address that was written on the piece of paper. "Oh, yes, I know where this is. This is on the same block where my son--" She paused and her face fell. She cleared her throat and continued, in a distressed tone of voice. "--where my son lives." The last word, she noticed, had nearly come off in the past tense. She could feel her face contorting, could feel the tears that were about to spring up...

The man had obviously noticed her sudden expression change. He looked at her with a soft, caring expression, placed a hand on her upper arm, and asked, softly, "Are you all right?"

Had any other person asked her that question, absolutely _anyone_, Debbie would have snapped a response back at them, saying, no, of course she was not all right, how could she be? But it was different with this man somehow...

Before she knew it, she was sitting at the diner's bar (_How did I get here? I don't remember coming over here_), rambling on and on about how her son was lost, how she did not know where he was, how she, her son's partner, and all of his friends were going crazy looking for him, and on and on and on...

The man sat, listening to her, in complete silence, and she told him everything, tears streaming down her face unnoticed. When she finally stopped talking, she saw that the man had pulled a tissue out of his pocket and was holding it out to her. She accepted it with a "thank you," and wiped her eyes.

"I can understand why this would be so hard for you...not only is your son missing, you have no idea of the_ why _of it all. And that can be even worse than his being kidnapped for ransom, because then, at least, you know the _why_ of his disappearance."

She nodded. "Yes, that's what it is. And maybe...maybe..." She could not seem to get her mouth to verbalize her thoughts, so she repeated that one word so many times that she eventually lost count.

"...maybe if you knew _why_ he was gone, you would know if you could have done something about it?" the man asked, finishing her sentence.

Debbie nodded again. "Yes," she somehow managed to get out.

The man patted her shoulder softly. "Well, I'm sure that since you already have the police on it, your son will be found soon."

"But...but, they've been looking for almost a week now...that's how long he's been missing, anyways, and so far, nothing. They haven't found a fucking _thing!_"

"Ma'am, I am very sorry for you and your son, but there is something that I need to attend to..." The man trailed off, as though unsure of how he had approached his dilemma.

"Oh, of course," Debbie said, standing up from the counter and sticking the tattered mess of a tissue into her pocket. "You need directions."

She gave the man his needed directions, even drawing a small map on a napkin. "...and then you're there," she concluded, drawing an "X" on the building in question.

The man picked up the napkin, gave her a thankful smile, and stuck it into his pocket. "Thank you so much," he said as he turned to make toward the exit. "And good luck in finding your son."

"Thank you. And, also, thank you for letting me talk to you," Debbie added, remembering how she had rambled on and on about how Michael was lost.

He smiled at her. "It's no problem. That's my job."

He turned and began to walk toward the exit when an idea flashed through Debbie's mind. She reached over the counter, grabbed one of the extra "Missing" posters, and dashed toward the man before he could leave the diner. "Oh, sir!" she yelled, causing him to stop in his tracks and turn back to her. "Just in case, if you see my son somewhere, please just...call me...or the police."

He accepted the poster, glancing down at it. "Of course I will." He looked down at the flier, as though inspecting it. "Well, I can tell you now that I've never seen him before...but that doesn't mean something won't happen," he added, seeing the distraught look that appeared on Debbie's face. "I'll keep my eyes peeled for your son--" He paused, looking down at where Michael's name was written, "--Michael..."

He paused again, re-reading Michael's name over and over in his head. "Wait, his name is...Michael Novotny?" he asked, looking up at Debbie.

Debbie grabbed a hold of the man's arm, as though he might disappear right before her eyes, like some dream. "You've...you've seen him?" she asked, her words slurring together.

"No, I haven't seen him--"

"Oh." Debbie let go of the man's arm, disappointment spreading across her features.

"But I may..." He inhaled deeply, somewhat shakily, Debbie noticed. He was suddenly very anxious, and Debbie was not sure whether to be happy or nervous. "I may know something about...about where he is. And what might have happened to him." He looked at Debbie, sticking his hand out. Debbie stared at it, unsure of what to do. "My name is Dr. Patrick Carmon..."

_To Be Continued..._


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Tons of love and thanks go out to those people who reviewed Chapter Seventeen: Mikou71, "LizzieBear," "Isabell," Mr. Stripes, PrettyPetalz65, "FW," "Flissy," Gorgonzola, SharpShooter626, "stari," and blondenbeautiful.

And to Gorgonzola, who pointed out many of the "technical" errors that I had had throughout the story, as well as offered tips, thank you so much! It is so hard to find someone who will honestly critique, and I'm very glad that you did. I have fixed all of the context/grammatical errors in the story that you pointed out. Again, thank you!!

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Let your tears come.  
Let them water your soul.  
-Eileen Mayhew

One word frees us of all  
the weight and pain of life:  
That word is love.  
–Sophocles

I long to see the sunlight in your hair  
And tell you time and time again  
How much I care  
Sometimes I feel my  
heart will overflow  
Hello, I've just got to let you know.  
-Lionel Richie "Hello"

Salvation is a fire  
In the midnight of the soul  
It lights up like a can of gasoline.  
-Switchfoot "Amy's Song"

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

"--You know where my son is?" Debbie asked, cutting the man off mid-sentence. "You…you know where he is?" she asked again, as though unable to believe that the man who knew where Michael was had simply walked into her diner asking for directions.

"Yes, I do. Or, more rather, I _think_ I do. It all makes perfect sense after all. Everything that's happened this week…it all adds up." He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Debbie. "Yes, it _does_ make perfect sense," he added, in a murmur.

"Listen, Mr.…Carmon, did you say it was?" Debbie asked, hurriedly. She was in no mood to listen to the man decide if it all "made sense." She wanted to learn where Michael was so that she could send Carl Horvath to go and get him and bring him back to her where he belonged.

"Dr. Carmon, yes," he replied. He said the word "doctor" with no trace of smugness, as doctors could often have when introducing themselves. He simply had an air of kindness that made Debbie less worried about demanding to know all of the information she needed.

"Please, Dr. Carmon, can you please tell me where my son is? He might be hurt, or need me. Please just tell me where he is."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he's hurt or needs you, Ms. Novotny," Dr. Carmon said, the compassion in his voice now lost, replaced with a strange sensation of--although Debbie did not want to even think about it--fear.

"What?" Debbie gasped. "What do you mean? How…how do you know? How do you know where he is?" She was asking more than her share of questions, but she could not help it; they seemed to be just rolling off of her tongue without her control.

Dr. Carmon sighed and gestured for Debbie to sit down at the bar. "Please sit, Ms. Novotny. I don't want to tell you too much without you understanding everything, and I mean _everything_, that I believe could be going on. And I want you to know that what I am doing is not exactly legal. In fact, I could even be reprimanded for telling you this. Especially if I'm wrong."

His seriousness frightened Debbie more than she had ever known to be possible. She sat, without a word, at the bar. Her mouth had gone dry out of fear and she swallowed.

Dr. Carmon took a seat beside her at the bar and turned to look at her. "Okay, I'm a psychiatrist, and about three months ago, a young man came to me with a problem: he was feeling lonely and sad because he simply could not have this guy that he claimed to be in love with.

"The first day I met him, all that he would tell me was how much he loved this guy and wanted this guy and needed this guy. At the time, I thought that it was just a crush. A phase, you know? So I simply gave him a small journal and told him to write whenever he felt depressed.

"But a week later he told me that he was still feeling depressed, that nothing had changed, so I diagnosed him with depression, gave him some medication, and he's been seeing me every day for the past three months. Until a week ago, that is."

He paused, looking at Debbie intently. Debbie stared back at him, not quite sure of where this man was headed, but she could already tell that it was not going to have a happy ending. That much she was sure of.

"Exactly seven days ago, this man stopped coming to me, without calling, dropping by…he simply disappeared. I've tried calling him but his phone lines are dead. I haven't been able to get in touch with him at all, and I've been getting worried. This man is unstable. He's been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and as well as a severe case of schizophrenia.

"That's why I asked you for directions…to find this man's house so that I can visit him. But if you say that your son is missing…your son, the person that my patient is so obsessed with, than I already know why my patient is no longer coming to me."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Debbie asked in a low whisper. "Are you saying that my…my son…?"

Dr. Carmon nodded. "Your son, Michael Novotny, is the man that my patient is so obsessed with. He's even said that he believes that Michael is in love with him. And since both your son and my patient are missing at the same time, the only explanation that I can come up with is that my patient somehow kidnapped your son."

"Oh God," Debbie mumbled, placing her elbow on the bar and holding her head in her hand. She did not cry; the shock was too intense for her to cry. She simply stared at Dr. Carmon, eyes wide, stomach churning madly. "Oh fuck."

"Where exactly was Michael last seen?" Dr. Carmon asked, leaning in toward Debbie slightly, as though they were engaging in a secret.

"At Babylon," Debbie whispered. " Babylon is a--"

"--dance club, yes I know." Dr. Carmon sighed. "Glenn Rosenthal, my patient, works at Babylon every night from seven to eight thirty." He nodded for effect. "Ms. Novotny, I think that you had better call the police." He glanced out the window. "And soon; it's already beginning to get dark."

Debbie nodded, her eyes still widened to their full width. She stood up, and, so unexpectedly that even she had no idea that she was going to do it, wrapped her arms around Dr. Carmon and embraced him tightly. "Thank you so much," she whispered in the doctor's ear. "Thank you so, so much."

Dr. Carmon smiled unhappily. "For what?"

Debbie pulled away and looked at him gratefully. "Just…thank you." She turned away from Dr. Carmon and walked swiftly over to the telephone. With shaking fingers she dialed Carl Horvath's number. When he answered, she said, in a rushed voice, "Carl? It's Deb. We know where Michael is."

There was silence for a moment, and then, _"What? Are you sure? And who's 'we'?"_

"Someone came to my diner asking for directions and ended up knowing everything…" She glanced over her shoulder and saw Dr. Carmon still sitting at the bar, his eyes sad. "He's still here. Carl, he knows where my baby is, we can find him!"

_"Deb, tell him not to move. We'll be right over."_

"Okay, thank you Carl." She hung up the phone and clasped her hands together. Her fingers were still shaking. _Oh my God, we're going to get Michael back; my baby's coming back to me!_

Pausing in her thoughts, she glanced around the almost-full diner and shouted, "Everyone out! The diner is closed for the rest of the night!" After an earful of complains and curses, the diner was finally empty and awaiting Carl Horvath's arrival.

Debbie noticed, with great relief, that Dr. Carmon had not left with the crowd. When she caught his eye, he smiled. "I figured that the police would need me to tell them where to go," he said, causing Debbie to smile (_really_ smile) for the first time in days.

* * *

Michael awoke to a sharp, blinding pain in his neck. His eyes snapped open and his hand reached up and attached itself to the pain-filled spot on his neck. "Oh God," he said, flinching in surprise when his voice came out as a strangled whisper. He coughed, in an attempt to retrieve his voice.

He was back in Glenn's room and, much to his dismay, was in so much pain (_New pain_, he thought in horror) that he could not move. The majority of the pain, he noticed, lay in his neck; the place where his head had flown back after Glenn's attack earlier. Maybe he had gotten whiplash. Judging by the pain, he believed that it was so.

He sat up, with much difficulty, and stared at the adjacent wall. His left eye was swollen shut and his whole body ached with such a distinct pain that dizziness overtook him and he collapsed back on his back on the bed.

_Someone help me_, he thought, not knowing that, at that very moment, his mother and Dr. Patrick Carmon were telling Carl Horvath where he was at that very moment, that Carl was beginning to organize a team to retrieve him, because they "don't know how dangerous Glenn could be," as according to Dr. Carmon.

Michael stared up at the ceiling. _This is hopeless,_ he thought. _No one's ever going to find me. This is going to be my life...for the rest of my life. Which, right about now, doesn't seem like it's going to be very long._

He struggled to sit up again and, this time, succeeded. Swinging his legs over the bed onto the floor, Michael emitted a small moan as his muscles ached. With a small push, Michael stood upright, swayed a bit, and then was able to maintain his balance.

He stared at the closed door and muttered to himself, "What the hell am I going to do?" That question had lingered in his mind ever since he had first gotten into this mess, and, one week later, he still had no idea what the answer was. But there _had_ to be an answer, right? All problems have solutions, or whatever the saying was.

Nevertheless, solution or no solution, Michael felt completely exhausted. He turned from the door and walked those painful few steps back to the bed. Collapsing on his back, Michael closed his sore eyes and sighed.

It seemed that he had only been asleep for a few seconds (and he very well could have been) when he was awoken by a loud _bang_. His eyes flew open and he was met with the charging figure of Glenn.

Glenn walked straight towards the bed, and the murderous gleam in his eyes caused Michael to shut his own eyes again. "You..." Glenn snarled, grabbing a hold of the collar of Michael's tee-shirt.

Michael's eyes opened again, and, this time, his face was so close to Glenn's that Glenn could have bitten off his nose without having to even shift positions. "You..." Glenn snarled again. "...told."

"W-What?" Michael stammered. "What're...what are you...what are you talking about?" Michael somehow managed to get the question out, even in spite of the face that it seemed that his tongue was unwilling to work with him.

"You told, you son of a _bitch_," Glenn bellowed, flinging Michael back down onto the bed. Michael's neck popped from the sudden movement and a sharp pain flew up and down his neck, causing a high-pitched ringing in his ears.

"What?" Michael said again. "I didn't tell anyone! Why? Who's here?"

Glenn's eyes widened, showing the whites around the irises. "No one!" he snapped. "No one's here." There was a bang on the front door of Glenn's apartment, causing both Glenn and Michael to turn their heads in that direction.

"Glenn Rosenthal?" a voice called.

Michael glanced quickly at Glenn, then, in a spur-of-the-moment decision, took in a deep breath and yelled, "Yes! He's in here! Get me out of--"

His last sentence was cut off as Glenn kneeled over and planted his knee directly into Michael's diaphragm. Michael clutched his chest and tried to steady his breathing, which was now coming out in short wheezes.

There was another, louder, pounding on the front door. "Glenn Rosenthal!" the voice called again. "We have reason to believe you are holding someone captive in your apartment! Either you open the door and give yourself up, or we will open the door by force!"

Glenn glanced nervously around the room, muttering to himself under his breath, "Oh God, oh God, what am I going to do?"

"--Rosenthal! We will give you to the count of five to open the door, or we will enter the apartment by force! One!"

Michael squeezed his eyes shut. _Please, _please_, let them get in. Please let them save me,_ he prayed, wrapping his arms tightly around his chest.

"Two!"

Glenn glanced at Michael, and inhaled deeply. He began walking, slowly and carefully, out of the room towards the front door. Michael, noticing his absence, opened his eyes and watched as Glenn walked towards the direction of retreat.

_Thank you, Glenn, for making everything easier_, Michael thought, although he did not wish to thank Glenn for anything. But, at this moment, watching as Glenn made the right choice, he could not help but feel somewhat thankful.

"Three!"

Glenn reached the door, stuck his hand into his pocket, and fumbled around for the key. He finally pulled it out and stuck it into the keyhole. There was a faint_ click_ as the doorknob unlocked, but it obviously was not enough for the police:

"Four!"

Glenn gripped the doorknob, closed his eyes tightly, and opened the door. Instantly, there were, at the very least, four cops surrounding him. Michael could only make out bits and pieces of what they were saying; his name, the Miranda rights...

Michael watched in silent incredulity as a policeman snapped a pair of handcuffs on Glenn's wrists and began to walk him out.

Glenn glanced over his shoulder at Michael, his former captive, and stared into Michael's eyes until he was out of sight. Michael stared back, unable to do anything else _but_ stare back, and he nearly felt like crying when he saw the misery in Glenn's eyes. _"I did everything for you and this is how it ends?" _the look said.

A policeman entered the room where Michael was and kneeled down beside the bed. "Michael Novotny?" the man asked, and Michael nodded. "An ambulance is on the way."

Michael did not hear the policeman's last sentence; he was still staring at the front door. Glenn had already been taken away into custody, but he could still hear _that look_ that Glenn had given him ringing in his head: _"I did everything for you and this is how it ends?"_

"Yes," Michael whispered, and the policeman furrowed his eyebrows at him in obvious confusion. "This is how it ends."

* * *

"Mr. Novotny, you have a visitor outside," Michael's nurse said. "Should I send him in?"

"Yes!" Michael replied almost immediately. "Yes," he said again, calmer this time. "Please let him in."

The nurse nodded, and then left the room to allow Michael's visitor in. Michael scratched at his wrist brace. He longed to see everyone so badly, but now, somehow, he felt almost _afraid_ to see them again. He felt foolish for feeling that way, but it was there nonetheless.

He knew that they would want to know absolutely _everything_ that had happened (especially Ben and his mother), and he did not feel that he would be able to recap everything without crying or having a complete mental breakdown.

And it was not simply the fear of having to live through the experience again that frightened him. What his friends and family would think if they knew that he had, one, not told anyone about Glenn's phone call and letter he had received, and, two, not used every opportunity he had had to try and escape--_that_ was what really frightened him.

And yet another thing that scared him was the knowledge that Ben was going to (if he had not already) blame himself for everything that had happened, and Michael did not know if he would be able to convince Ben otherwise.

There was a scattering of footsteps from behind the door and Michael swallowed, uneasy about seeing everyone, and, yet, he had never been happier.

There was a soft murmuring followed by a short (although in Michael's mind, it was far too long) pause. Then, clear as day, were the words, "Go on in."

"Thank you," replied another voice. Ben! Michael's heart leapt up in joy. He had wanted Ben to be the first to arrive; it would make everything so much better.

There was another pause before Michael finally saw the doorknob twist…and then the door opened.

Ben appeared in the doorway and, so softly that he could barely hear it himself, whispered, "Michael?" His tone was one of complete disbelief. _Is this real? Is this finally over? _he asked himself as he stared into the bruised and swollen, but very much alive, eyes of his partner.

Michael smiled, although it pained his cheeks to do so, and nodded. Matching tears sprung to both of their eyes and Ben walked over to Michael's bedside, then leaned down and embraced him tightly. "I thought I lost you, baby…oh God, I thought you were gone," he murmured in Michael's ear, planting light kisses on Michael's neck in between words.

"I'm so sorry, Ben," Michael whispered. "I am so, so sorry." The tears of joy that had been flowing out of his eyes just seconds ago had changed into tears of guilt and sorrow.

Ben pulled away slightly, looking into Michael's eyes with such a confused intensity that Michael felt as though his heart was being ripped out. "Sorry? What for?"

"For…for everything!" Michael managed to reply. How could Ben not understand why he was sorry?

"Michael, you don't have to be sorry for anything. None of this was your fault." Ben paused for a moment, staring at the bruises on Michael's face. "How…" he began, "…what _did_ happen?"

_Oh God, that's right; Ben still has no idea what happened,_ Michael thought._ I…I don't think that I'll be able to tell him…but he has every right to know_…

Michael opened his mouth, not knowing exactly how or where to begin. Then, suddenly, with no control of his own, words began to spill out of Michael's mouth with such a great force and speed that he wondered if Ben was able to understand him at all: "Oh God, Ben, it all started with this letter, and then there was a phone call from this guy telling me to meet him and I did and I didn't tell you, and…and--"

Michael paused, wetting his lips. "--and then, when we were at Babylon, where I was supposed to meet the guy, I went to the bathroom and then I just…passed out. When I woke up, I was in this room--bedroom--and I didn't know where I was or what the hell had happened. That's when this guy--Glenn--came into the room and staring telling me that he…that he loved me, and…and…"

Tears were streaming down Michael's face unnoticed. They had been, in fact, ever since he had said _"…it all started with…"_ Ben placed a reassuring hand on Michael's shoulder, whispering, "It's all right, baby, take your time, it's all right."

"And he…he--" Michael tried to find the right words to explain to Ben exactly what had happened. _"He hurt me"_ simply did not seem to express what had really happened, at least in Michael's mind. "…he raped me, Ben," Michael blurted out. "More than once, I think. He…it hurt so bad, but he wouldn't listen--" He trailed off, wiping his eyes with his hand.

Ben stared at Michael for a few seconds, either unable to process what Michael had just told him or was simply in shock. What Michael had just told him had happened had never even crossed his mind. Sure, he knew that it had been bad, but not in the way Michael had described.

At a loss for words, Ben leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Michael. Michael hugged his back, clutching at Ben's neck desperately. When Ben finally pulled away, he asked, softly, "Did he have any…diseases?"

Michael shrugged. "I don't know. The tests haven't come back yet."

Ben shook his head in both disbelief and grief. "Sick fuck," he murmured. "I swear to God if he gets let off I'll hunt that bastard down and kill him."

This caused Michael to smile wanly. "I'm sure you could. And I sure as hell would like to see it."

Ben smiled, but it quickly faded. He reached out and gently touched Michael's swollen eye. "He hit you?" Ben asked, as though he did not truly wish to know the answer, although it was pretty obvious.

Michael nodded, feeling a new wave of tears burning in his eyes. "More often than not," he replied.

Ben frowned, his finger still tracing the bruises on his partner's face. "I just can't believe this happened," he whispered, taking Michael's hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I know," Michael replied. "But you know what the worst part of all of this was? Well, aside from being away from you, of course. I actually felt _sorry_ for this guy. I…I actually felt _guilty_ when he would act...nice, I guess is the word?" Michael shook his head. "What was I thinking?"

"Michael, it was perfectly natural for you to feel some kind of compassion towards him. He was, after all, the only one there to give you food and sustenance. You were only trying to stay alive." Ben smiled, kissing Michael's forehead gently. "Anyone could understand that."

Michael smiled softly. "Ben, my voice of reason," he said, sighing deeply. "But I still feel like I, like I let you down somehow. I mean, I had quite a few chances to try and escape but I just didn't take them."

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that you're here with me…and we'll find a way to push past this."

Michael gave him a look of gratefulness through his tears. "I know," he replied, but in all honesty he was not sure if he was going to be able to "push past it." He felt so horrible, so dirty, so…_ashamed_. At the moment, even though he was back in Ben's safe arms, he had never felt so helpless or alone. But knowing that Ben was going to try and move past what had happened made him feel slightly better.

Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind: "Ben?" he began, causing Ben to look at him. "How did the police find me? I mean…how?"

"Someone who knew about that guy…" Ben paused, furrowing his eyebrows as he tried to remember what Michael had told him the guy's name was.

"Glenn?" Michael asked, helpfully.

"Right. Glenn's psychiatrist, I believe it was. Anyway, he stopped by the diner looking for someone to point him in the direction of, what happened to be that guy--Glenn's--apartment. Basically, he ended up being able to tell us where he thought you were. He told your mother that, since both you and his patient were missing, he assumed that he had done something with you."

Michael nodded. "Wow. So it was pretty much just a _very_ lucky coincidence, huh?" he asked, sounding astounded that someone could simply walk into a random building and end up being the exact person needed for a situation.

"Well, we sure as hell needed one of those. After this past week--" Ben sighed. "--I wasn't sure if I'd ever have any luck again. I've never been so scared…" He trailed off and Michael could see tears filling up Ben's blue eyes. "Oh, baby," Ben murmured under his breath before burying himself in Michael's neck. "I just can't believe it," he added, his voice slightly muffled.

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry, _Michael thought, wanting desperately to continue apologizing to Ben, but he knew that Ben would tell him to stop. Ben had no intention of ever blaming Michael for what had happened. No, Michael could see that Ben was far to busy blaming himself.

"Neither can I," Michael whispered back, using his good hand to run his fingers through Ben's blond hair. "Please don't blame yourself," Michael added, tears welling up in his eyes again. "It wasn't your fault; it never was. Please, _please _don't blame yourself."

Ben sniffed, pulling away from Michael slightly so that they were gazing into each other's eyes. "I--I can't help it," he said, staring down at Michael's bandaged wrist. "If I had just followed you...or checked on you...maybe none of this would've happened. You wouldn't have gone through all of this and...and you wouldn't be hurting."

Michael shook his head. "I told you not to follow me, Ben, didn't I?" Ben shrugged, saying that he did not remember. "Well, I think I did. And that was stupid. Not telling you about that letter I got or the phone call...that was stupid, too. You did nothing wrong." Seeing that Ben was diverting his gaze away from him, Michael took Ben's face in his hands, locking eyes with his partner again. "This wasn't your fault," Michael added, staring seriously into Ben's eyes.

Ben stared at Michael for a moment, staring into Michael's serious eyes (or eye, as the case was; one of Michael's eyes was swollen shut), and nodded. He was still going to continue to blame himself, he was sure of that, but knowing that Michael did not blame him, nor want him to even consider blaming himself, gave Ben great relief.

"Oh, Michael!" Michael and Ben looked over towards the doorway. In the doorway stood a red-haired, wide-eyed figure, a look of both joy and sadness etched on the figure's face.

In an attempt to show his mother that he looked worse than he actually was, Michael smiled at her. "Hi Ma," he greeted, staring at her with his large, brown eyes.

Debbie did not return her son's smile, and this caused Michael's smile to quickly fade. Debbie stared at her son a moment longer before dashing across the room and crushing her son to her.

"Oh, my baby, my baby, my sweet baby," she murmured, planting kissing on the top of Michael's head. She wrapped her arms tighter around Michael's neck. The sudden pressure on his sore neck caused Michael to cry out softly in pain.

Debbie pulled back and looked at her son, her hands on either side of his face. "What's wrong, Sweetie?" she asked, inspecting her son's face thoroughly.

"It's just…my neck," Michael began, nervously. "It…I--"

"What happened to you?" Debbie demanded, letting go of Michael's face. "What happened to you?" she asked again, slower this time.

"It's, it's nothing, Ma," Michael said, sincerely. "Just a little whiplash--"

"Bullshit!" Debbie interrupted. "A little whiplash, there's no such thing! Now answer my question, what happened to you?"

"It's just some bruises and cuts, mostly," Michael replied, slowly. "There's also a broken wrist and the whiplash…and we're waiting for the test results to come back in," he added, throwing a glance towards Ben.

"Test results?" Debbie repeated, her eyes widening. "What test results?" When her only response was a still silence, Debbie took her son's face back in her hands and brought her face only a few inches away from Michael's. "Michael Novotny, you answer my goddamn question _now_."

Michael looked at Ben pleadingly, silently begging Ben to tell his mother what he meant. "Debbie," Ben began, taking Michael's hint, "it seems that this…Glenn did more than just…" He paused, unsure of how to continue. "The tests are for…STDs," he finished, placing his hand on Michael's.

Debbie's mouth dropped open, staring at Michael in disbelief. "Oh..." she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "He...he..." Michael nodded, cutting off her stammering. Debbie let out a wail, flinging her arms around Michael once again.

Michael winced from the pain in his neck and moaned, "Ma, please, don't."

Debbie removed from around her son's neck and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. "I'm sorry, honey," she said, softly. "I just can't believe..."

"Aww, Mikey." Michael shifted his gaze back towards the door and saw Brian standing in the doorway, the rest of his friends piled up behind him. "And here I thought you were just faking." Brian entered the room and walked up to Michael's bed.

"Shut up, Brian; my baby's been really hurt," Debbie snapped, rubbing Michael's shoulder affectionately.

"I think I can tell that just by looking at him," Brian retorted, and Michael rolled his eyes. "So," Brian said, looking at Michael carefully, "what the fuck happened?"

"Can't you tell that just by looking at him?" Debbie interjected, sarcastically, wiping her eyes and nose on a Kleenex. "Michael," she said, looking at her son, "you don't have to answer any questions if you don't want to."

"No Ma," Michael said, turning his attention back to Brian and his friends, who had all filled the room after Brian had entered, "they have a right to know."

"Yeah, Michael, I mean, we were all really worried," Ted stated. "We don't want to pester you about it, but…after a week of nothing…" He trailed off, hoping that his point had been made.

"No, I understand," Michael stated. "Ben and I were at Babylon and the next thing I knew, I was…I was drugged." Off of everyone's (excluding Debbie and Ben) open-mouthed reaction, Michael continued, telling the entire story as he had Ben. Watching each of his friends' reverberations to each of the events that had occurred, Michael, at numerous times, was close to breaking down again.

"Oh God," Emmett said, after Michael had finished. "I'm surprised that you're actually still _alive_." Michael nodded in reply, saying that he was surprised as well.

"And that's all we're waiting for? The tests? And if they're negative, you're okay, right?" Justin asked, hopefully. "That's all we have to worry about?"

Michael swallowed. "I guess, but it's still something to worry about. And it's a pretty big something." His grip on Ben's hand tightened.

"You'll be fine, Mikey," Brian said, seriously. "You've been through too much shit already. I mean…you'll be fine," he said again, as though trying to convince himself.

Michael smiled. Brian's remarks that he had just made were enough to let Michael know that Brian had indeed been worried about him. Not that he thought that Brian _wouldn't_ have been worried…it was just gratifying to actually have it recognized. "Thanks Brian," Michael replied, and Brian gave his covered knee a magnanimous pat.

There was a knock on the open door, causing everyone to turn their heads. "Hello Michael," Detective Carl Horvath greeted, somewhat hesitantly. "How are you feeling?"

Michael shrugged and gave a sort of half-smile. "Been better," he replied. "And thanks, Carl. I know that you did a lot."

Carl smiled an I-didn't-do-that-much smile and stepped into the room. "Michael, I know that this has been a hard time for you--" he began, and alarms went off in Michael's head. _No, I can't tell the story again,_ Michael thought. _Please, God, anything but _that_. Later, but not right now..._

"--but, we need your statement." _Of course,_ Michael thought, and his eyes flew down to the covers on his bed. "Michael, I know that re-telling what happened will be...difficult, but we can't convict Glenn Rosenthal unless we know what he's done to be convicted."

"Carl, my son is exhausted," Debbie piped in. "Can't we do this a little bit later?"

"Actually Debbie, we've already got Glenn down in custody, so it would be really helpful if--"

"--oh, _helpful_?" Debbie repeated, mockingly. "For who, Carl? You or my son?"

Carl Horvath glanced at Michael, who was staring at him with pleading eyes, and smiled. "All right. I'll come back tomorrow. But don't think I'm going easy on you just because I love your mother."

Carl gave Debbie a quick smile before turning and leaving the room. Debbie turned back to everyone, her cheeks a bright fluorescent pink, and grinned at them. "Well, I'm sorry you all had to hear that."

Everyone chuckled at Debbie's statement, but the laughter soon died down when a young nurse entered the room. "Mr. Novotny?" she said, and Michael looked down at the papers that she held in her hand. "Your test results are in."

Michael's heart flew into his throat and his fingers curled tightly around Ben's hand. "It's all right, baby, we'll make it through this," Ben whispered in his ear.

"All results came back negative," the nurse said with a wan smile. "You're going to be fine."

A loud sigh of relief was emitted from every person in the room. Ben leaned in and pecked Michael's cheek. "You're going to be fine," he whispered, repeating the nurse's words. "_We're_ going to be fine."

Michael gazed into his partner's eyes and nodded. "Yeah, we're going to be fine." Although he had said it, he still did not quite believe it.

* * *

"So, how does it feel to be home, dude?" Hunter asked, trying his best to look as nonchalant as possible, but both Michael and Ben could see that the kid was nearly bursting open from excitement.

"_But that's a teenager for you,"_ Ben had told Michael on the way home from the hospital. _"They'll never tell you how they _really _feel. The most you can do is assume how they feel and pray to God you're right."_

Luckily, in Hunter's case, when Michael had first entered the apartment, the joyous glow in Hunter's eyes had told him enough so that he did not have to assume. That happiness in Hunter's eyes had been vivid enough for a blind man to see. After all, Michael_ had_ been in the hospital for nearly five days, and that can cause someone (especially a kid) to worry some.

"I've never felt better," Michael replied, scratching at the cast on his wrist. He had been scratching at ever since he had first gotten it on. So much so that now Michael no longer realized it when he gave his cast the occasional scratch.

Hunter grinned. "I believe that," he said, crossing over to where Michael stood and embraced him in a very father-son type hug. Michael caught Ben's eye for a moment and they smiled at each other.

Hunter pulled away, crossing his arms, the nonchalant look back on his face. "Well, it's great to have you back," he stated, nodding as though in agreement with himself.

Michael chuckled. "I missed you so much," Michael said after a moment of silence.

"What you mean, 'missed me?'" Hunter asked. "You just saw me yesterday, remember? Or are you getting too old to remember stuff?" His grin widened as Michael gave his (Hunter's) shoulder an irritated whack.

"Doesn't matter," Michael said, defensively. "I still missed you." Another still silence fell over them, making Michael nervous. "So," he began, turning to look at Ben, "what's for dinner?"

"I was thinking," Ben replied, stepping towards Michael, "something along the lines of--"

"Please!" Hunter interrupted, holding up his hands in mock disgust. "Your kid is in the room!"

Michael and Ben grinned at Hunter, not because of his sarcastic comment, but because he had called himself their "kid." Tearing their eyes away from Hunter, Michael and Ben beamed at each other. "Anyway," Ben said, "I was thinking that we might just order in tonight."

"Sounds good to me," Michael and Hunter replied in unison. Ben chuckled at them, shaking his head, and turned towards the telephone.

Michael frowned as his eyes drifted towards the window facing Glenn's apartment. From where he stood, he could peer into the kitchen of Glenn's apartment. Every so often a dark figure would move in front of the window, then disappear again. _It's just the police searching the apartment_, Michael reminded himself when he felt his chest tighten. _He's not there anymore. Remember?_

_Yeah, I remember,_ he answered himself, but he still could not shake off the feeling that Glenn was there. Watching. Waiting for another opportunity to take him. And maybe, this time, since Michael had finally gotten away, he would not be as kind as he had been.

_Don't be stupid, _he thought, but his eyes did not leave the window into Glenn's apartment. Had he really been so close? So close to Ben and his old life? Why had he not been able to get back? Why, why, _why_?

All of those "why's" and "how's" were nagging at the back of his mind, keeping him awake at night. They were the reason that he was so afraid to come back home to his life: because he did not know the _why's_ and _how's_. And he could not stand not knowing _why_ and _how_. How would he be able to prevent it from happening again if he _did not know_?

"--Michael?" Michael turned around and looked in the direction where he had heard his name being called. "What?" he asked, looking at Ben, who had the telephone pressed against his ear, and his right hand against the mouth of the receiver.

"I said," Ben began again, his voice so calm and gentle that Michael could not help but smile, "what would you like, Michael?"

"Umm...you choose," Michael replied, not having the energy to actually decide what he would like to eat. Ben nodded, then proceeded to tell the person on the opposite line what they wished to order.

Michael turned his head back to the apartment and watched as a policeman rolled out the yellow "Police Line -- Do Not Cross" streamer across the balcony of Glenn's apartment. The policeman caught Michael's eye and lifted his hand up in a half-wave. Michael returned the gesture and the policeman turned to go back inside the apartment.

Michael watched as the policeman slid the glass door closed and locked it, watched as he turned away from the door and walked out of sight. Michael sighed deeply, sitting down on the couch.

His heart jumped when he felt someone sit down beside him on the couch. "What're you thinking about?" Ben asked, wrapping his arm around Michael's shoulders.

"I don't know," Michael replied. "I guess I'm thinking about everything that's happened. I mean…look." He pointed towards Glenn's apartment. "I was so close. Why wasn't I able to…to get back?"

Ben exhaled loudly, staring at where Michael had pointed. "Because you couldn't," he said, after a moment's silence. "He didn't let you, and you didn't want to be killed, because…I think we both know that he probably would have, if you had gotten far enough away."

Michael nodded, but he did not feel satisfied by Ben's answer. Something still did not feel…right. "You okay?" Ben asked, softly.

Michael turned and stared into Ben's blue eyes, thinking about what Ben had asked, and, not wanting to lie to his partner (he remembered quite vividly what had happened the last time he had done _that_), shook his head. "No, not yet." Placing his hand in Ben's, he murmured, so softly that he barely even heard himself, "But I hope I will be."

* * *

Author's Note (cont'd)-Okay, I really have no idea how police business works, so if anyone _does_ know, please either e-mail me or tell me in a review, because I want to get it right. Thanks much!

So, the story's basically over. The only chapter that's left is the **Epilogue** (which is already written). It will be up in one week. Until then, I hope you all enjoyed my story and don't forget to review!


	20. Epilogue

Disclaimer-I own nothing. The show belongs to its creators.

Author's Note-Okay, I know that I said I'd wait a week, but I can't wait!

Here it is: the final chapter of my story. It's nothing much; just a _short_ little Epilogue, but I think it's pretty important to include. You know, I'm actually really sad that the story's over. I've had so much fun writing it. But I'll be sure to write another "Queer as Folk" fic, just as soon as I think of one.

And thanks to "FW," blondenbeautiful, PrettyPetalz65, Mr. Stripes, "Frilly Pineapple," and Gorgonzola for reviewing Chapter Eighteen. And a special thanks to Mikou71, who e-mailed me with numerous hints/tips. Thanks so much!!!

* * *

Why Don't You Love Me?

By: Lamia Astaroth

* * *

Guilt is anger directed  
at ourselves--at what  
we did or did not do.  
-Peter McWilliams

Lips that taste of tears, they say,  
Are the best for kissing.  
-Dorothy Parker

Rejoice not at thine  
enemy's fall--but don't rush  
to pick him up either.  
-Jewish Proverb

Holding my last breath  
Safe inside myself  
Are all my thoughts of you  
Sweet raptured light  
It ends here tonight.  
-Evanescence "My Last Breath"

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

**Pittsburgh City Paper :: Sunday, May 16, 2004 :: Section A-Page 1**

PATIENT DIES IN SLEEP, CAUSE UNKNOWN 

Glenn Rosenthal, who was admitted into the Pennsylvania  
Commonwealth: Bureau of Medication just 30 days ago  
died just last night while asleep in his room. After performing  
tests on Rosenthal's body, Dr. Jared O'Connell from the UPMC  
Pittsburgh Clinical Research Network has confirmed that the  
patient's death does not appear to be suicidal. O'Connell states  
that "There does not seem to be any real probable cause of Glenn  
Rosenthal's death." Dr. Patrick Carmon, Rosenthal's psychiatrist  
for the past four months, disagrees, stating that "Glenn Rosenthal,  
over the past month, during our sessions, has told me of one thing:  
that he lost the person he loves to someone else, and that person  
was the one thing that was keeping him alive. I believe that Glenn  
died of a broken heart." Glenn Rosenthal, 23, was admitted into  
the Pennsylvania Commonwealth: Bureau of Medication last month  
after kidnapping and raping a local citizen. Rosenthal...** Cont'd A3**

**

* * *

**

_Oh God,_ Michael thought, dropping the front page of the newspaper onto the kitchen table. He opened the newspaper to section A, page three and continued to read the article.

**

* * *

**

**Cont'd from A1** …who was sentenced to remain in the Pennsylvan-  
-ia Commonwealth: Bureau of Medication was reported telling Dr.  
Carmon that he had "no reason to live anymore. The only part of me  
that I loved is gone. I've never felt so alone…death can't feel any worse  
than this," two hours before he was found dead in his room. After  
Rosenthal's body was tested for any type of suicide attempt, Dr. Carmon  
released a notice to the Bureau of Medication stating that he believed that  
Rosenthal did indeed die of a broken heart. According to…

**

* * *

**

Michael stopped reading, closing the newspaper and setting it back down on the table. He rubbed vigorously at his temple; he now had a terrible migraine, but did not have the energy to go into the bathroom and get out some aspirin.

It had been a month already since he had been rescued from Glenn, and Michael was still dealing with many of the aftershocks; being nervous about being alone, overprotection from his mother, friends, and, of course, Ben.

Michael read the headline again, shaking his head in disbelief. _Glenn's...dead?_ One month ago, when he was trapped in that small room, being raped and beaten, he would have welcomed the news of Glenn's death with open arms, but now...it just seemed so...what was a good word for it?

Michael sighed. There was no word to describe how he felt. "Guilty" seemed to be the closest he could come--and he felt guilty for feeling guilty. What a vicious cycle life was. And death as well.

"Michael?" Michael turned his head to look at the doorway to his and Ben's bedroom, where Ben was standing. "Why are you up already?" Ben asked, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hand.

"Well, I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep," Michael replied, looking back down at the newspaper was still lying on the table, that one headline gleaming up at him as though it was saying, _Your fault. Your fault. _Michael grimaced at the newspaper, letting his eyes drift back up to Ben's face.

"Ah," Ben said, knowingly. It was not the first time he had awoke and found that Michael was already awake. There were even a few times where he had had to wake Michael due to Michael's having a nightmare...or vice versa--Ben having a nightmare and having to be awoken by Michael. And he did not need to ask to know that he and Michael were dreaming of the same events.

He walked across the room to where Michael was sitting and glanced down at the newspaper. "So, anything interesting happening in Pittsburgh today?" he asked with a small smile, leaning down to give Michael a soft peck on the lips.

"Actually," Michael began, accepting Ben's kiss before continuing, "yes."

"Well, what is it?" Ben asked, leaning in to give Michael another kiss.

"Glenn died," Michael stated, before Ben could lean in with the kiss.

Ben paused, pulling away from Michael slightly. "What?"

"Glenn, the guy who--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Ben interrupted, waving his hand in a _don't say it_ type of way. "You said he's _dead_?" Michael nodded, pointing towards the headline and tapping it. "Well, after what that son of a bitch did to _you_..."

Michael shook his head. "I know what you're thinking. 'He deserved it.' And a month ago I would've agreed, but..." He trailed off, still shaking his head.

"But what?" Ben asked, sitting down next to Michael at the kitchen table, and placing his hand on Michael's shoulder reassuringly.

"I don't know...it's just...it says that he died in his sleep for no apparent reason," Michael said, quickly, gesturing towards the article, "but then, his psychiatrist says that what he probably died of was a broken heart. Because he lost me.

"And…and I know that that sounds incredibly selfish, but _God_...I feel so responsible and...terrible. And I hate myself for feeling this way, but I can't help it! I really can't!"

Ben rubbed Michael's shoulder affectionately, knowing that Michael needed to release how he was feeling, and Ben was not about to interrupt.

Michael placed both of his elbows on the kitchen table and covered his face with his hands. "He-he told me that...that if I left, he'd have no more reason to live," Michael said through his fingers. "I killed him," he said, his eyes burning with tears that he did not understand.

_Don't cry for him,_ he scolded himself. "_All_ that he wanted...was to be loved...just like everyone else," Michael continued, lowering his hands. "And he died alone and unloved."

Michael shook his head. The tears in his eyes were beginning to overflow. One lone tear escaped from the corner of his eye and rolled slowly down his face. He wiped it away quickly. "I don't even know why I'm crying...for _him_," Michael whispered as Ben wrapped his arms around him.

"Because you, Michael Novotny, are a beautiful person," Ben said, giving Michael a feathery kiss on the cheek. He rested his forehead against the side of Michael's head, burying his face in Michael's hair. Michael gave him a watery smile in return. "And I love you," Ben added, smiling.

"I love you, too," Michael replied. "More than you'll ever know."

"And probably more than I deserve."

Michael frowned, thinking of what Glenn had told him so many, many times: _"He can't love you the way you deserve!"_ "You deserve more," Michael said, after a moment of silence.

Ben chuckled softly and gave Michael one last kiss on the neck before standing up. "I'm going to start making breakfast," he said, walking into the kitchen.

"Already?" Michael asked, standing up as well. "It's only six thirty, _and_ it's a Sunday; Hunter won't be up for another four or five hours."

"I meant for _you_," Ben said, shaking his head. "What would you like?"

Michael shrugged, walking over to the window. "Surprise me," he replied, placing his hand on the glass and peering through the window towards Glenn's apartment. The bright yellow "Police Line -- Do Not Cross" tape was still hanging from Glenn's balcony, rippling which each gust of wind.

Hard to believe that just last month, he had been trapped there, so close to safety, and yet unable to reach it. He sighed. He was still unable to shake off the feelings of guilt that had inserted themselves into his mind, but someday, hopefully, he would.

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

Author's Note (continued...)-::sighs:: The story's over. Kind of sad...well, please review! Thanks all and I hope you liked my story! Much love to all of you!!! 


End file.
